Along the crispy crunchy riverside path,
on a cold and frosty morn with it's chilly air,
spider's web's glistening on the latice fence,
like note's on a musical score,
as you read them it send's music floating into the heaven's,
bird's flying and singing going to and fro,
some planning to venture further afield,
a field-mouse scurrying with more material,
to keep away the winter's edge,
as they shiver in their nakedness,
leafless tree's silently watching the river rolling by,
carrying the clothe's of vegetation,
fish taking air before settling down in the deep,
where they will be quiesent until spring is here.
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