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Katie Stoker


Winters days are gray
And cold in their way.
A mystery Mist
Swirls gently with a twist
Threading its way
Threw the shadows of day
Winter is no longer kept at bay.

Winters winds whistle
And bend a dying thistle.
Clouds of grey race
As they chase
Across the winter scene
Winter is cold and mean
As can be seen.

By K. J. Stoker

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