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They’ve brined the streets,

Dusted the face of the asphalt with white.

The frozen wind is whipping, tree canopies tipping,

White brick houses standing steady and ready

for snow.


They’ve brined the streets,

Pale blue crystals winking at the sun.

The dogs are all indoors, sleeping on the floors,

Paws down in the sun, dreaming begun

Of who knows.


They’ve brined the streets,

Left the salt to its sanctity.

It drifts here and there, dulling the glare

As I’m looking down, taking in the soft sound

of hope.

Spread the word about good words 🙂
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