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Winter's Wolf
The sharp-toothed skirmisher of January past
passes its knives by her cheeks;
the hillside heralds its shredded brown visage,
winter’s wolf howls the bitter conquest of the moors.
The season of concealing crowns and faces,
of cautious feet across the maze of wilted souls
to reach the lone tree, grey lightning petrified in time.
Frozen into the bark are age and time.
...
Monday 9th January 2017 4:51 pm
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