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Twilight
Out on the other side
Of pale grey winters day,
Cold blows the drizzle
My breath is mist
And the mist is a shroud
Sitting light on the tips
of the blades of the mills
And the fieldfares rise
In a rowdy cloud
Falling over the meadow
I envy the Raven
Dark and proud
Hieing over to Stoodley
Untroubled by the cold
Or the weather.

@matty7w
Is that Stoodley Pike?
I enjoy your use of language! I have learned new words from you, like “hie”!
Thanks!

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