December
When frost moves down my window sill—
The night's ghost blowing soon snow;
In my dreams, this phantasm's strain—
At morning, will night seem long ago
The night's ghost blowing soon snow,
While the moon's behind the sky—
At morning, will night seem long ago
With shivers in the chimes.
While the moon's behind the sky,
In my dreams, this phantasm's strain;
With shivers in the chimes—
When frost moves down my window sill.
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2023
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