Author: Mike Keating

Low Areas

The low areas succumb To a crisp veil of white Some say a killing frost But not really Nature preparing For its winter sleep Not all plants this time Some protected By height Others by location But, not to worry All soon are chosen Then We...

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Oh the cold

Oh The cold Chill instilled In my soul A January Wind whipped Breeze Broken Not by The weathered Thaw from A warm south West breeze In my face On this winters Eve.. As My steps along A dark path Lit by a Full wolf Moon are Brightened By Just three Small Words I love you… Not unfamiliar In there Nature Yet, These three Small words Spoken From truth Warm this Old tired Soul Hope now Strengths My cadence Now joined Together… Love eternally...

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