The molten golden sun,
diving down,
into the dusky evening,
sets it curtain down,
the turtle doves,
the blue breasted,
orange beaked birds,
float and flock their way,
to the warmth of their nests,
as I lay quietly,
snuggled under sheets,
all cozy,
the wind blows outside,
rustling the leaves,
on a december's eve.
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