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Click hereThe array of hues
T’wer mingled in a palette
Conceived spectacles.
Above and below,
A cracker floats to the floor
Making crunchy beds.
A Cold air sweeps by,
The winds howl a low tired moan,
Yet, it's breath blows stern.
a crazy mixed up poem, no beginning and no end with meaningless drivel inbetween.
i mentioned this poem in the New Poem Review thread in the Poetry Forum. please feel free to come along and join in with other poets. the 50% temperature rating i've given you is so that it does not affect future temp ratings. - wildsweetone.