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December 1985

 

Late at night I knock

on your window and playfully

sing my song

but you roll over

ignore my music

let sleep abide

 

In the morn when you awake

you will see that I was there

and though you may have missed me

you will recall my name

as you treasure my flowers

I've grown upon your pane

 


Frost
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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Each New Day A Miracle
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