might love and long to stroke the window flower.
Fog upon the glass is deceitful
misty like the breath of a kiss
that almost came to be.
It seems to beckon gently and to tease
as the wind shivers in the gaps along the shutters.
But the wiser know the frosty snow sparkles with a secret
hiding behind his wintery, love-sick eyes;
a plan to steal away the life that waits
so patiently upon the sill behind the pane.
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