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Water, frozen, in morning’s air
Place’s itself most everywhere
Lingers, while it congregates
Stops, and thinks and contemplates
Of where the next could possibly land
Perhaps I’ll catch it in my hand
So as not to let it hit the ground
No, I won’t let it fall earthbound
I’ll place it back, onto the branch
And watch, as another takes the chance
Then sigh, as each new one appears
Raindrops, winter’s icy tears
August Writing Prompt – Icy Morn – Day 30/31
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