Distorted moaning laughter howls
outside my window pane
the mid-november skyline scowls
with swirling gray disdain
the bony trees with wrinkled skin
are now completely bare
and clatter, so withdrawn and thin
like skeletons everywhere
this tired year is almost through
it's slowing to a crawl
I long for brilliant skies of blue
as snow begins to fall.
Are You Reading Me?
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