Crows in the Mist
A matter of heart, floats on a wind like a feather.
The chill of a memory, as cold as the weather.
Locked tight away, down deep without cause.
An emotion not seen but felt like sharp claws.
The purpose of smiling is only for show.
The torment of knowing, a crushing hard blow.
If ever a love was as faithful as this, then why must it fade, like crows in the mist?
-Faith Serafin
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