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Posted January 7th, 2015 at 8:53 PM by Corvus of the Black Night

In days that freeze our hair into shards,
and force us to retreat into our homes,
and left but in my frosty abode,
Passing my finger across many tomes.

Do you think of me?

A soft, clean bed, warm with many sheets,
but lonely in the dark winter blight,
I thought of how you touched me,
how you were there with me that night.

Do you remember me?

If I whispered so clean into your ear,
of how you were my champion,
would it be so hard to believe
even when darkness is your only companion?

You are not perfect, but I would never change,
who you are, what you are, how you are,
To me, you are perfect, I have no need to change you,
your modesty, your diligence, your hand at the guitar.

Do you wish for me?

I wish you were here, but I understand.
Sometimes a bird just can't land.

When the wind is blowing hard, harder still.

Outside, its cold; harsh, brutal winds
break through your bones and teeth.

The temperature dropping, down to a chill.

And here I am, all alone,
With my finger passing through many tomes,
as I hide from the cold winter air
in the warmth of my home.
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