it’s cold outside
the white eagle of the north is flying overhead…
the tips of its wings brush the skies and snow is falling…
the boiling grey skies mix with the tantrums of turning leaves and the world, from my window, burns…
my dead love falls from tired eyes…
yet finally I can say I feel peace scraping at the edges of my mind…
maybe in sleep…
I like how the words you use makes so much sense….you are a poetic person.
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