London Poem: Day 142

6 January

What does the winter beg of us?
Wild tossing wind strips the
Brave faces of any exaggerated
Pall, to sway from its due place.
Steady drippings sweep away
The white cover concealing
What nature sought to push away.
We are the night,
And by force, we are the winter
As the darkening light vanishes.
Here we are, waiting for spring.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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