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End of year poem (Free verse) by <~>

September is the wrong time to go-- not cold enough for sorrow and humidity disguises grief's waste of salt. October’s rime finds me. Out of warmth, I seek another heat and bargain through another moon. November's dearth shortens breath and I hide inside, bracing for the feast days. I have held out against the fading light. Dark within, dark without I stow solace, waiting for the out.

nentwined 16-Sep-03/9:36 AM
hmmyes. 9.




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