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Image for the poem It

It'll Be Ash Come Morning

I can hear the wind whistling  
through the cracks of this old wood
shack and the cold hits my bones  
I feel truly alone but the weak fire  
flickering reminds me a little  
light is better then none at all.
Written by nikkimoe
Published
Author's Note
I took the photo. Its the first page in a book.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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