cold wind and trees
Raging wind and cold, gray clouds and creaking trees;
the winter season presses itself into my bones.
Little brown mice find their way through the
smallest crevices, into my kitchen and warmth.

Geese feast on leftover soybeans in the brown
fields and contemplate a southern retreat.
I wish for a fireplace with fine crackling logs
and yellow flames to warm cold tired feet.


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