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Dark and roomy,
but no room to move,
and alone in dismal solitude,
alone at home,
waiting for the snow to go,
sat by the fire,
keeping warm,
and being inspired,
in the wintertime,
whilst the snowflakes fall outside,
and the sky is dark grey,
but here beside the fire I do not mind,
and time it disappears so quickly as I watch the flames,
and my heart it comes alive,
on another snowswept gloomy day,
in the woods,
and how beautiful it is,
with no pressure,
and only creativity,
in which I so happily live,
and thrive,
and happinness how it grows so easily inside in the peace and the quiet,
despite the grey and the snowstorm,
the quiet of the day,
it thrills my mind,
it thrills me with no one around,
and with no one with anything to say,
how well spent is the day,
and how great is the light in my eyes,
and the smile upon my face,
as I engross myself in my writing,
and in my artistic side,
and the snow it does not bother me despite me being stuck indoors,
but the beauty,
how great an inspiration it is as I write by the fireside,
and forget the cold.

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Writing and poetry
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