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Cold, bluish, and the early sun Smoky trees, whitened skies, and the murky vision, A parable misted in the morning mist, A paradox twisted in the dawning rust, Something beneath, something not, but entwined me. Cool breeze, grayish, and the lost warmth, Shivering leaves, damp and moist, and the wet path, A gait eerily guided by light, though scene blurs, A wait wearily misted by love, though it pains, Something beneath, something not, but the entwined me. |