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Winter by Mark R Slaughter
A cracked lip; raw skin.
I pined for orange flickers
Dancing off a cheery fire.

A gelid blast of arctic air
Had caught me unawares
Reinforcing my desire.

Turning down an avenue,
I froze; suspicious trees
Likely destined for a pyre

Were laughing off the icy chill
Of callous winter nights.
And I? Simply to retire

Snug, inside a balmy chair
Of warming solitude:
Ah! my carol, my festive choir.

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