Stir
In the winter feel the wind stir
Bitter splinter bit of tinder
Hold on to a silver wire
Cutting like a stolen fire
Find the faceless mirror spin within
Reprise your eyes fill with borrowed tears
As all that never was disappears
Grow until you feel the thicket thin
Feel the wind stir.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2018-07-30 at 14:15
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