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Dead again,
February winter.
Icy fingers
Reaching down
Through the clouds.

Snow piled
High, resting
On lakes of mud
And water brown.
Leaves sticking
On remnants
Of the summer before.

Cold gray moon
On your billowy
Perch, staring
Almost nonchalant,
As I creep home
And crawl deep
In my shell.

Leaving the
Ugly world
Outside as I
Close the door
And dream
Of summer,
And reminisce
The love thereof.

The love
That shivered
Through autumn nights,
Then died
In your icy fingers.
Dead again,
February winter.

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The following comments are for "February Winter"
by TamiJane

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