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Monday, July 28, 2008

Winters' Woes, some Bleed, in Prose

Perilous Propellers:

Where others left, yet hold they on, These stragglers, left behind
The friendship circle, broken, gone, The winter has been kind.


Decay:

With form deformed and toll being took, And natures path, led way
The remnants of what once had look, Now dangles in decay.







































Twisted Torture:

A cry for help, a last ditch made, Attempt to reach the skies
Alas, too late, soon good-bye bade, One more of Winters' cries

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Desolation:

A barren twig, a branch now light, It's weight robbed by the sun
And dry, and heat, and nature's plight, Left standing, none, but one

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Delicate Danglers:

Off-set against a carpet green, And veils of white, so bland
A last ditch effort can be seen, For pride to take it's stand

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the Muse, himself

Muses of things photographic, and of life,seen by all each day.