January Whispers #6
Cars glide by on four rubber feet
Sliding like sleighs through the snow and the sleet.
Humming along, become hydroplane whispers
Misty murmurs ascending, grow crisper.
Fading away before the followers repeat.
I do not want to wet my rubber feet.
No whispered steps when I mush
Only the plop, plop, plop of sneakers in slush.
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