My street is deathly silent whilst nearing midnight. Soft flutters of my neckerchief,
Irregular wet thumping of my heart,
Embedded deep within my chest cavity.
It shatters the polished icy atmosphere.
A baby sleeps in the room facing the street.
Rough coughing and spluttering disrupts her otherwise peaceful slumber.
This winter has yet to go cold,
Alas, the child will die.
Erratic Behaviour
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