Last, last, last.
Looks like the day
that'd spell its end
Winter that's spread
its wings
beyond spring.
Sun hesitant.
Blossom undecided.
Bliss awaits.
Coursing the pages,
riding the raft
of graphite and ink
A poem, a song,
even a piece of art
to some
For me, the only way
to survive the glacier
frozen within.
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