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When the snow stops,
we will not be cold my love,
The sun will spread on our backs
and we can let go of our blankets.

The river will no longer shed her tears and the clouds
will be bereft of their sorrow.

You and I can take a walk my love,
when the snow stops,
and look at the bed where the river once crashed and carried,
dried and forlorn now,
frowning at the winking sun.

You and I my love,
can follow the bed till it ends on the mountain top.
the silent noise will fill our ears,
the trees will be unburdened of their green cloaks,
mouths of empty joy will face the sun
and you and I my love will have nothing left to say
when the snow stops.
The lack of logic
running rampant in this world
unbelievable

                          Kelly McManus
It was a hapless thought,
it unwound itself free
and upwards it ascended
until with a mindful twist.
It was gone.

And now she stands
lost of brevity.
In an idiotic stupor of lazy language
she upends her 'truth'.
The Rivers end.
It hung strung out beneath the air heavy with hibiscus.
A clear view of an unflustered sun,
under the glut of our harvest.

A grizzled youth light with fever and strong with words
floats through.
A new scent infuses our thoughts with bergamot,
as you place the crown of ivy on your head.

Take the time now.....
To stroke back upon the waters edge,
to rock upon the rivers flow,
until we land on solid ground.
© 4 minutes ago
My feet were wet.
a frosty pain aching through each toe.
The rain subdued every colour,
The pallor of boredom circling over each eye.
No sunlight left.

Still my feet are wet,
Take my shoes and socks off she said.
The frost on the grass tingles,
my feet are wet but the sunlight has returned through every green blade.

An earthly reset upon a new day,
Every feeling grappling with each new hollow cloud.
Looking upwards to the greying vapours churning.
Yes she said " I am alive".
© 4 minutes ago
A softening, just ever so.
The straightening of a naked brow,
a whispering of a maudlin melody
to the mornings snow.

And snow it did, caressing each daffodil
until it swooned to the ground.
The dusting of cold chilling your warmed bones,
until we left it all cracking in the grate.
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