James Tipp

Rookie - 408 Points (20-06-1945 / East London)

Winter 1984 Or Whenever - Poem by James Tipp

White haired
The grass has aged
The night frost lies heavy,
To crunch beneath your feet.
White headed buildings
Winter is here.
The river runs slow
Chilled by the elements.
Whilst people heads bent
Thrust forward to be gone
Leaving behind the cold.
The ancient house
Seen from the river
Like a granite peak
The sky is pink
Dazzling the scene
Give thanks for the beauty.
Creation, His love for all.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 15, 2009

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