Father heaves a great autumnal sigh
And lays her down in darkness
Her sallow countenance belies
A crystalline hope
As carefully, delicately she draws
Her pristine gown of white
Around her neck, as she awaits
Her groom, the coming spring.
by Ben Cook
This poem was one of my impulsive challenges following a discussion about school assignments and one in particular that was to compose 8 lines on the subject of Christmas or Winter. I can only imagine the scope of submissions for that in any setting, but this was my response.

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