Words: Swan Song

The winds of change blow hard
hard and cold through the valley this morning.
Casting a chill of doubt and thought on everything it touches.
Bare trees replace the skinned knees
Of summer and cheeks are pink from a bitter cold bite
Instead of a loving hand.
These shakes of mine have found the best of me and thrown it to the wind. To be forever tossed like the last leaf of fall.
Such a bitter end for one who tried so hard.

B.

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