The Poor Ones - Poem by Jinge Norvall
Twas Jack Frost
Who held the land
In his grip of ice and snow
And the poor ones shuddered
In their shivering shacks
Not an ember to warm cold souls..
And the beast that gnawed at their empty guts
Raged on through the merciless night
Ravenous, consuming - as frost on flowers -
The poor ones had faced their last.
Last meal, so meagre.. Last fire in the hearth..
Clinging together, love, at the last.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You