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Winters
Winters days are gray
And cold in their way.
A mystery Mist
Swirls gently with a twist
Threading its way
Threw the shadows of day
Winter is no longer kept at bay.
Winters winds whistle
And bend a dying thistle.
Clouds of grey race
As they chase
Across the winter scene
Winter is cold and mean
As can be seen.
By K. J. Stoker
poem
by
Katie Stoker
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