When Thoughts Haunt In A Painful Winter?
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When I see the piles of Snow here
I think of the dark skinny children
They draw waterfalls in their loose-leaf drawing books
But never seen a coloured rainbow in the mysterious sky?
When I touch the crispy snowflakes
I think of the crying infants with their upturned lips
They struggle to suck the milk but the kind mothers
don't have a single drop in their shrunk breasts?
When I scribble this I hear my beloved reads;
'One man's old shirt is another man's new start.'
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