DECEMBER
In a hushed lament, in December I go
Beneath bare boughs in the wild air
Which swirls in torrents, everywhere,
As I wander like a wayward leaf in the snow.
Meanwhile the wind weeps dolefully
In the languid dusk of the winter chill
Forming ivory wreaths on the pearl white hill
Carrying your name - to torture me.
John Lars Zwerenz
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