My hand in the plush
Of your fleece jacket.
Snowflakes
Taste like frozen grapes
And iced pumpkin.
Leaves droop with thick powder,
Making heavy
The tired branches of autumn.
Washed away
Is the color of my garden.
Stolen splendor,
Bathed in white.
Unnaturally pale, verdant albino.
Silence
Falls on the deaf
Soil, but ancient stones can hear
The iced walk melting
Tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment