When your earlobes tingle with the frost of the wind And your nose tip is swelling red, your fingers scorned thin You know that the North Wind is making its dent On the year’s natural calendar, despite your dissent And yet, if the wind did not blow as it does How high the cost would be to us! — … Read More
the heavens weep again, frustration beating against the clouds we look up to the skies, lost in wandering gloom lift your hands to the thunder.
What is the color of water Through the lakes an iridescent blue? Or the skies – a weaving thread of vapor Twinkling in golden rays, reflecting pure white Light? Perhaps it’s Darkness condensed in Swamps, dumps and sewers also Penetrating through the putrid steams; Emanating From Factory’s fire and Man’s destruction.
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