the gathering clouds encroach,
upon the fairest blue,
the darkness starts a swift approach,
a sinister, swirling stew.
lighting burns across the sky,
thunder clatters like old bones,
the cold cascade plummets from on high,
as the wind snarls and moans.
and though the weather is wild,
I am safe behind my window,
to my couch with a book I am exiled,
and I wish it could always be so.
Frostwritten 
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