Winter's Symphony
Eyes glazed with black
cold fingers drum on the harp of winter
and every note
a solemn reminder
That spring will never come.
The last harvest
Time to cross the river.
Fallen forests to show the sky.
Feast and famine, a whispered lie.
"Bountiful."
Frost, all consuming, full of rage
Merciless and starved.
Clings to the olive branch
and weighted down.
There will never be peace
White washout and frozen shore
Green the color now of lore.
https://pixabay.com/photos/frozen-blossom-bloom-ripe-head-3840163/
Pixabay License
Free for commercial use
No attribution required
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