It wrestles with the leaves,
Hurries with the cold,
Floats with the knowing,
And chills in the bones.
A fickle friend,
To taunt and play,
To cool you off,
And breeze away.
The wind you say,
That is the answer.
Or is it fear,
The silent dancer?
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC
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