Along these windswept streets
With every gust,
Every step,
Every bone.
Fear of observation
Without contemplation.
Contemplation without creation.
And under the door,
The winter comes.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Along these windswept streets
With every gust,
Every step,
Every bone.
Fear of observation
Without contemplation.
Contemplation without creation.
And under the door,
The winter comes.
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