Windows
Its a cold March afternoon, and the trees are
oh so still, Im searching for words to say from
my window sill.. The birds take flight so easily
and never question why, but here I sit with
thoughts and nothing here to write.. Another
hour passes by, and now the color has changed
my sky. The pens not flowing like it should, I close
my eyes and imagine what could, another bird passes
by, wings so spread and with no reason why. So
now my paper is not free, everything is from my
window you see.....
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