Friday, November 5, 2010

Walking Home

The dark clouds hang low,
Under the soft orange sky,
Reflecting our lights.

The bitter wind blows,
Quivering the tree branches;
No more leaves to hide.

The sound of traffic
Is muffled by the cold air;
Ambience alive.

Darkness has risen,
The warmth is falling asleep.
Absent in our minds.

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