Spirits assemble at dusk's first light, to take in dreams that are drawn, on pre-winter shores where winter stays, by foggy air that projects its maze. Reflections reflect in the dew, on cold branches pale and blue, as moving waters faintly murmur, with sobbing seniors that capitulate. A calming moan sparkle's from above, captivating coo from morning dove, that swells tenderly on the lake, accepting commendations of its bond. Ice winds coat the thorn weeds, and all that tuck away among the reeds, along the waterways painted streams,
that hide into my fantasies. that hide into my fantasies.
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