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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1851285
Tis leap year

Watery morning sun--
rudely awakened,
lashing every branch
with red-tinged hue.
Eighteen degrees--
ice cackling,
fueling the roar of Wintry wind.
White pines sway--
joints creaking,
yet cardinals sleep unconcerned.
February flees
on haughty flanks--
leaping headlong into
the March of the storm.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1851285