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Mar 17
A blanket of mist covers the sky,
and no bird can be seen flying high.
The cold crisp air grows evermore dreary,
as we can only grow weary.
The suns warmth is draining,
the fog only gaining.
Staining the bright blue sky a deathly white
the sun now out of sight.
as we shiver in the air.
of this ever-growing night.
made on a foggy day.
Cameron
Written by
Cameron
80
 
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