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Poetry: The seasons of love

by Patricia Arnold

Upon this frigid winter's night,

my words hang in the air,

I called to you, for you to come,

you were no longer there.

Each plaintive sound, which I could see,

before my very eyes,

hung in the air, then shattered there,

a million shards of ice.

Oh, for the warmth of your sweet soul,

I hungered in despair,

I called to you, for you to come,

you were no longer there.

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