Cold wind flows swiftly
Brushing waves of tendriled hair.
I always feel so bleak
sitting here among
shining caps of wintry snow.
The animals are sleeping
while I sit here patiently
waiting for the sun
to wrap it’s warm arms around
me again, but ‘til
then, I must wait while the wind
taunts my death chilled bones
hidden under lambs wool, soft.
Soon though, my flowered face
shall once again see the world
through shining eyes and
sand buried ankles and toes.
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