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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Nature · #2353242

What I heard...

Dear Whist'ling Gale,

though hawking pale,
         untimely mortal end
         by bitter knife
         or blanket white--
                   where secrets lie
                   preserved in time
                   'til Spring,

though not my friend,

allow me once on you to dote,
for I almost forgot my coat.


8 Lines
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