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Winter Wisteria

A dead vine

in the winter, almost

losing its foliage,

Left with brown wood

to get through

the dark months.

Losing its elegance

as the fireplaces quench,

but it still seems,

A poet coming from far away

to be comforted

by the evergreen.

The poet writes,

"A winter wisteria

coming back to existence,

Rising from the cracks

and overshadowing

the barricades ,"

The runoff of snow begins

as the sun softly shines,

Signing an end of an era,

And the beginning of a new.


Her hands frozen

By the snow

Celestial lights

Fell on her cheeks

As she looked up,

Her life tarnished

Into the darkness,

The place lit up.

It was mother nature

Telling her to get up,

To stand up on her knees,

It was mother nature

Telling her not to be defined

By someone else's deeds. A melody

Not far away

In a distant land,

The sun sets

Just in time.

For now,

It's darkness's reign.

Under a leafless hazel tree, he sits

The sound of a mysterious train echoed.

Crying and burying followed.

"Let's go home, sire."

The Watchmaker looks up,

It's his nephew

He came to pick him up.

The angel sings a melody

The smell of roses in the snow

The nephew was long gone, he thinks

They disintegrate into a yellow glow.

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