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Shylah S Mar 2014
Spin-off of November by Thomas Hood*

White field-- white snow!
Everything withers--nothing grows!
No flora-- no fauna--an ice tundra where no one goes.
A ghost of a memory-- a vivid flash of pain
Vision in white-- not a thing to see

But no, hidden--where could it be?
Kisses, hushes, heard in the dark,
the world is different you see, when white covers bark.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No trees--no leaves
December.
A spin-off of a poem "November by Thomas Hood"

— The End —