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Jan 2021
I wish not to wither from whence a region is in the throes of the season of death.
Salted roads, unknown footprints in the snow and minus a breath.

Lifeless trees against the canvas of a grey and slumbering sky.
I wish to leave when life and robust colors once again make love to thine eyes.

'Yours and everyone's concrete poet'
👷🏻‍♂️
TheConcretePoet
Written by
TheConcretePoet  Isle of Poet
(Isle of Poet)   
55
 
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