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All the winter I sat near the fire,
Putting the pen to paper to convey,
My feelings and thoughts that raged,
But nothing came onto the paper,
Frozen it seems was I by the stillness,
The heavy air hanging around me,
So thick that you could feel it,
I ventured into the open air,
To refresh my thoughts,
But yet all I saw was darkness,
And gloom, sinking my spirits,
Everywhere there was silence,
All the birds and beasts lying,
Comfortable in slumber,
I have no motivation to write,
So I slept all winter,
Until the dark clouds lifted,
To reveal the rays of sunlight,
The land so parched and dry,
Burst forth in a color of green,
All the birds whose voices fell,
Silent burst forth in chorus,
To produce the finest melodies,
The beasts which slumbered all winter,
Ran and frolicked in the woods,
And like the veil lifting from the bride,
The spring came bringing beauty,
And my pen did write,
Putting all my ideas,
That I had stored in winter,
Onto the white space before me,
And my hand that lay lifeless all winter,
Started writing again in spring. |
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