Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry

Misty morning, fog is warning
death on her lips is sung
she smiles she screams
noise fills her dreams
death on her lips is sung

while hands of ice are softly rung
and tears flow down like streams
the birds fall still
from quiet thrill
and tears flow down like streams

but never in her wildest dreams
would ever madness fill
little scorning,
little mourning,
would ever madness fill

the time that’s left with thoughts to kill
mindful of adorning
words that are flung
and gently hung
mindful of adorning.

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry