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    • Burnt
    • A Demon in the Making
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THE POEMS

Winter Dawn

Inhale. 
Bitter-sweet air inspired 
by the majestic scent of evergreens. 

Snow. 
An infinite royal carpet 
for winter's kings and queens. 

Crisp. 
A few last brown leaves 
crumble at my fingertips. 

Flakes. 
Frozen, falling diamonds 
kiss my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. 

Red. 
Fiery flames of rising sun 
streak the blanket huey pink. 

Beautiful. 
Abstract wonders fill my mind 
like intoxicating drink. 

Cold. 
Evaporating breaths of mist 
enfold me like a web. 

Still. 
Calm, quiet, silent, ceased; 
arrest time's painful ebb. 

Life. 
A hasty scurry of movement 
in the deceiving, lifeless scene. 

Bloom. 
Visions of creation 
in a picture so serene. 

Winter. 
Earth takes its well-earned rest; 
a time to heal and mend. 

Dawn. 
The essence between the new and old, 
the beginning and the end. ​

​(Written in March, 1997)
​Website and contents, including all poetry © 2019, Dianna Hardy. All rights reserved.
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