The Mark of the Storm
(To Old Man Winter)
Limbs stripped and bent
Standing alone on frozen waters
The mark of the storm
The wind chilling bones of stone cold ice
Ripping through bleached Autumn’s hair
That once was considered green
The mark of the storm is upon me
Yet, my inner soul remains quiet and calm
My coat of fir shall keep me warm.
Here, I shall wait for the rejuvenation
Of my beloved Spring.
Until, then I wear the mark of the storm.
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