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Rated: E · Poetry · Environment · #1823800
A poem I wrote when I was younger, while it was Winter . . .
Winter is an old man
Who walks down icy pathways
And leaves snowy footprints
His old grey hair whips across his pale face
He limps past leaf-less trees
His old rotten teeth chatter in the speeding wind
As his white skin fades away
He welcomes spring and sadly
He melts away.

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