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Bare






Each thick pad
thuds silently on the sharp
pure ice, her last winters breath
extinguishes slowly, giving way
to the season of rememberence,
death and decay, a time of new
beginnings, filled with hope filled pockets
(somehow the cold felt warmer against
her ashen skin) But now she's dissolute,
prepared for a sleep which will
last, the season of grief, harsh truths
and of letting go.


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