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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2012029
Why must the day to celebrate love be at the worst possible time?
February 14th


The wind is a howling wall of snow, a world of white, a frozen glow.

Earth and sky now seem as one. Barren ground screams, "Life is done".

Cold like a razor, sharp and deep, animals starve and people weep.

A month so cruel and cursed from above, why is it known as a time for love?

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