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Late Winter
No birds remain amongst the dead branches, now black and twisted.
The air is empty of their chirps, no remnant of their song in my ear.
What remains is only the slight static sound of the voices snow has muffled
And the rasp of tasteless breath, which burns the lungs with cold.
Crunch, crunch, crunch,
Goes the snow, giving way beneath my feet, heavy with boots.
Hunch, hunch, hunched
Are my shoulders beneath my long, warm coat.
The road stretches vast in front of me,
The sight of it: vast, endless and white.
The image burns into my head, to spite the climate
Both draining me and invigorating me
With reminders of the many miles these boots will go
Before they see their rest.
- Title: Late Winter
- Artist: Devonaki
- Description: A poem I wrote as an exercise. The challenge was to write a quick piece using at least 4 of the 5 main senses and I was in a wintery sort of mood. I hope its to your liking. I encourage reviews if you see anything to improve.
- Date: 11/30/2012
- Tags: late winter poem sensory
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