The days,
they are ice.
For they melt
like leaves of
longing.
In my mischief
I swallow
all the pills.
This is for
the days
when they
quietly creep
in like mice.
That is the time
for children to sleep in.
Insignificant finger
points toward
melting ice and snow
lacy needles threw
for me,
I needed these.
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