a descent into poetry insanity |
| in the forest, where trees grow two hundred years tall, and wolves still howl in the shadows— their breaths warm, Father Frost lives. his home is made of fairy lights and his beard weighs almost as much as his robe— fur and brocades in reds and golds. I met his daughter once. the Snow Maiden peered in my window as I drifted near sleep, and left a gift five feet deep on my front lawn. Author's Note ▶︎ |