A Winter

-09.01.2022-

Could it be a winter?

Without a bitter.

As the sculptor perspires,

Arcs etched belong with yore.

Withering weathering wind winked,

Yet the orbit transpired linked.

Whatsoever,

don’t get pinked.

How? It’s still hibernal -

Along with narcissus.

Disowning not so,

Perpetual is your soul

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