With stealth the darkness creepsAnd seals the dayWith hardly a difference of Day from night;Ink black rooksFrom their roost Take flight,Circle, then return to theSame bare branchesSilhouetted againstThe soot grey sky;Wintery sleetFalls;The cold seepsThrough every gap;Even the log fireStruggles in the grate; There is no wind Just empty blackness.
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Ruth Partridge 