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Along the banks they stand, proudly, and wait

The misty morning, always, coveting their fate

Statuesque, majestic trees, one after the other

Try to shake the gloom, as limbs begin to shudder

From tiny particles, tis the rime, of winter’s bane

All they want is warmth, to ease the chilling pain

But alas, when day is over, and the sunlight strays

Evening settles in with more, of that melancholic haze


February Writing Prompts – Misty morning melancholy – Day 6/28

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