The streets are cracked
and the skies are grey
and the people, aloof
and distant and
unknowing, sit at
home and sip
their tea while the
tall, looming trees
sway like partners
who dance in the
midst of darkness.
The wind picks up
and blows terrible,
shrieking gusts.
The smiling sun has
sunk away.
The night is upon us.
All around, things whimper.
All around, they whimper.
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