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The sun is but a gentle touch, and the cold is setting in
Darkness crept, as night drew near
Spring was only just awakening
... for it was not words that were sought
A memory of these woods, of silences
The moment the river's roar was felt
A curious stillness took hold
Knowing the shadows had more to say
The fog like a heavy silence weighted with secrets
Crooked with timeless patience
With ghostly pallor they persist
The small sharp song of the frost
Sometimes the night draws apace
