Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2065808
Every season has a breath to it - a character that defines its life. It comes and goes...
They say "it", the other three,
For they can only aspire
To bequeath "her" beauty.
Far from her alone
The days are not far from
Her precarious cold
Held in the frozen palm
Letting her snowflakes
Come to fall, In awe to all
She is a beauty, and I am man
But we are not alike
In gender, nor in life,
For I can stand,
Though cannot stand, when she begins
Her dismal, dreary days,
Particularly that one
Before I can open mine
The gifts from others, like myself
From my dear lady-love,
My mother and father
And good ole' friends.
She is His daughter made to come and go,
And as she is so near, I do not feel alone
Imagination running wild
Christmas is almost here
And she is not but clever
To erase the landscape, from the other three
To smear and write, all over her
Her virgin white.

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