No colour

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No colour in the year’s end,

no joy in icy fields

stretching to misted hills.

The fire burns low in the empty room,

and in the cold black branches

of the birch tree by the window,

no birds sing.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

14 thoughts on “No colour”

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