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
Added by Poetry Lover
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