Friday, June 22, 2012

Found item turned into a poem-"a painting"

Long,long,the path to cold hill;
Drear,drear,the waterside so chill.
Chirp,chirp,I often hear the bird;
Mute,mute,nobody says a word.
Gust by gust winds caress my face;
Flake on flake snow covers all trace.
From day to day the sun won't shine;
From year to year no spring is mine.

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