My Poetry


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3. Cold Blooded

When I look outside, I see clouds and wind.

The clouds begin to cry.

This is not what summer is in my mind.

Not a single bird flies by.

 

The leaves are green,

but I am chilled to the bone when I step out.

Summer is so close it can be seen,

but Mother Nature is in a teary pout.

 

I hope the sun will shine through.

The ground is soggy and cold.

As for smiles of warmth - there have been few.

The rain makes me feel like I have become old.

 

I look to the sun.

I look for the sun.

My shining star has been extinguished by weather.

And the last memory I have of spring is a golden bird feather.

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