It is November by Ann WoodIt's November. Foggy and secretive.
I traveled a lot. But there was more.
I painted myself with endless roads -
to look for you in my cold nights ...
It's raining intermittently. And I calm down.
I left my umbrella by the door.
I wrap myself in hopes. I'm smiling.
And the wind is the threshold of my soul ...
And winter taps its feet.
But it's too early for her, and she'll wait.
It's November. I live where
The moon will drive away, even the darkness ...
And with all the fog and secrecy
to my so autumn soul,
I came to tell you that a long time ago
I just want one. Heat.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2020-11-21 at 13:41
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