I am waiting for the dawn,
The casting of crisp light over the frosted grass.
The winter is long and harsh,
The mornings bitter.
Dark clouds stain the sky like murky acrylics.
The air is damp and cold,
Streetlamps flickering,
Birds too gloomy to brave song.
Already the air is heavy with sirens,
Police cars skidding over the icy tarmac.
A lonely airbus drags its frozen wings through the bitter heavens.
Silhouettes of naked trees and slate houses crowd the horizon;
black cutouts laced with feeble points of light.
After hours of silence,
a tiny glow peeks into the blackness;
offering its spreading warmth for the world to wake.
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