Spring Would Not Reply

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 01, 2020

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Submitted: August 01, 2020

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Over a heavy grey of clouds,
An orange ball of soft warm light.
Beneath the grey the city sleeps;
A shadow of itself.
Spread across a wrinkled valley,
The dark silhouettes of frosty woods
Lift their arms in choral plea.
Yet spring would not reply.
 
In the country, where the river swam,
The barren meadows cannot whisper.
The fields, once green, now brownie hard,
Wriggle away their dead cold mist.
And soot-laden chimney vents,
Their factory bowels, not keen to bear,
Raise their ghostly hands in the air.
And spring would not reply. 
 
The desert's red and blistering sand
Boils the ground where on I stand.
Its whistling winds, like Seti's staff,
Wrap my feet in strong whirlwinds.
And in the belly of His rage
Can my moan be heard again.
The withering lasts another night.
Yet spring would not reply.


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