| | Okay last poem that I will post in a while.
These shutters are getting old
and cold
from winters unfriendly wind.
I begin
to find solace
between two shrubs
and rub
my hands together
like I've sinned.
I watched as the winter stalked,
locked
in the outdoors
noticing a deer
with fear
of losing its baby
to no mans machine
but seems
to stutter
while she cuddles
her young near
Sometimes these icicles glimmer
and shimmer
from the moons light
coming down.
The sound
of winter wind seems to glide
in along
as if it belongs
to the earths wrinkled gown.
While sprinkles of snow come wafting,
lofting
around and sparkling
on its plane.
Insane
how other times the same
icicles turn dark,
to embark
with the shadowing skin
in which it came.
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