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Poetry

Brisk Langour

By Rohan Scott

An animated stillness slips off the awning

Drip, splash, the gentle rattle of drizzle

Raindrops splinter light,

So forms the yellowed mist

The old trodden flags collecting,

Puddles glisten, reflecting

The cold is still, unshaken

The enclosure of edifices,

Keeps the breeze at bay 

Clasping an ember between forefinger

A ghostly smoke drifts into the air

As the nighthawk draws their breath

The watcher is numb

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