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Silent Pen

When I have writers block, sometimes it becomes my subject. This is one of my older poems now, but the fact that I can still read it suggests it may have some longevity in it. What do you think?

Winter

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 …