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Jan 2018
A walk through the woods
reveal a solitude that I yearn,
like how snow craves a
safe spot to rest on needles
of bowing pine trees.
His howling gusts transform
into silence by a frozen lake,
where a doe scouts for
breaching grass with her fawn.
And just for a moment, as
the sun rises and illuminates
hardened beads of water
clinging to spiderwebs,
I can close my eyes and
breath in--not tobacco and
*****--but moistened earth
and rotting wood.
You are free, the woods whisper.
S P Lowe
Written by
S P Lowe  24/USA
(24/USA)   
396
     mel, ---, ---, Lizzie and ---
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