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Rose knitted clouds gathering
Across amiable lands
Whilst the crying fox bless the skies
Pleading to fill the brooks.

The sombre moon shines cold,
As tuneless melody of whisper
Passes through discerning pine.
Battling inland;
The wind gloats with a smile.

The run away rain,
Starving life whilst
Holding the key in its hands.

© John Ashleigh, 2012

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