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December Fog

Drifting wisps of white and gray
Slip past my window
The world enveloped in quiet chill
The heavens touch the earth below

Sounds are harsh from unseen sources
Trees loom brooding and dark
The sound of the mourning dove echoes
And on my heart makes its mark

Somewhere the sun shines bright
Somewhere life is happy and warm
Yet here, wrapped in fog,
The world offers me no charm

Just gray and drab, dank and chill
My mind, my heart, my soul
Like my eyes are filled with gloom
Here in the grip of winter's hold

Neither fully alive nor dead either
Living life in a kind of ether.

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