Poem -
Poor Stop
I see a bird or two pilot across gloomy grey skies , she cried a tear here and there with a bluster
The boughs stay silent , but the pale yellow leafs rattle to the wind . My toes kissed the mud , chilled to the bone December poverty.
Bells cried over in great delight , across the vineyards who slept away .
The author spilled a bit of ink , golden hills with a kiss of regal
As if the scene was candy of the eye , it's her who i saw ... tho she wasn't around
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