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  • You must have stolen all the clouds
    for we have none, only the reflection of the sun
    in crescent white set in the midst of stars so bright
    the street lights are not needed.

    Yet for all that brilliance,
    a bit of warmth would be a welcome
    price for clouds. Here, bitter cold enfolds,
    embraces and invades our souls,

    makes us shiver in the day
    when light should warm us.
    Our days are cruelly teased
    with icy winds that moan and shriek

    and wail like mournful banshee
    on a bleak and barren Scottish moor.

    Fred
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