November
I dress in garments of woven wool,
And walk upon a mossy path.
The cold fog seeps into my veins,
And distant oceans lend their scent.
The moist air cools and flushes my skin,
Breathing deep, gossamer mist
The trees from fortresses of grey
No longer painted with colors bright,
Each hour of day is lit the same,
Crowned by a polished painted sky.
Light breaths of wind kiss my neck,
As my footsteps move me steady and slow,
Carrying me to my destination.
There I seek solace in a dimly-lit room,
Lined on both sides by paper and leather,
Sweet words to tantalize my mind,
And leave me feeling satisfied.
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