On a misty morning

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Feelings of the poet on a winter morning

It is still fiery debris dim on this cloudy morning,
But, the spirits are cognizant starting at this point.
Murmuring all over.
Shaking everything in their ways.
Spilling through the openings around,
 The passages and the windows.
Inching down the walls,
Flooding the room with their super icy breath.
Inching into my bed,
Awakening me and entered my blanket.
Incorporated by them,
I twisted up contracting, like, a night crawler.
I then expected to deal my bed.
They recognized taking belongings.
Endeavoring to set down with my knees squashed,
To my head, my arms around my lower legs.
I was shaking when I felt their region.
I got up and closed the windows.
They were gotten, inside. Bit by bit,
They would vanish in the region of warmth

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