With bated breath Old Man Winter spent autumn on boreal throne. As he readies for a full-blown return into the Carolinas, his aloof moans of displeasure with lingering fall colors hitch a ride on southbound winds.
North wind’s ice-cold minions tussle tree tops.
Their raw breath chills man and beast to the bone.
Bar none, life longs for spring among Sundrops,
Yet gives thumbs up to Jack Frost’s wintry tone.
© Ilija Lukić 2020
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| Old Man Winter |
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