November dribbles - 19
There’s holes in the insulation under the door
Where wind blows in.
Its whistle calls and thundering voices echo in the hall
While leaves of fall have clattered
Worn and battered underground.
I shiver but remember more
The children’s tread,
Small voices echoing all through my head
Warm sounds instead.
Giving thanks for home and family
Where wind blows in.
Its whistle calls and thundering voices echo in the hall
While leaves of fall have clattered
Worn and battered underground.
I shiver but remember more
The children’s tread,
Small voices echoing all through my head
Warm sounds instead.
Giving thanks for home and family
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