for winter.
white lines of snow.
drifts.
bare boned trees.
the sky
low and grey.
a melt of sun long
gone leaving
a strand or two
of violet.
the slush on the street
is ugly.
we are not quite old.
but far from young.
with more behind
us than in front.
but that's fine.
it's perfectly okay.
these are lines for
winter.
there's beauty in
this ending.
a part of us wanting
to leave
a part that wants
to stay.
No comments:
Post a Comment