The solstice passes,
and the light begins it's return,
slow, cold and bare and pure.
Bitten by the cold and shaken out of our veins,
hope, like the evergreen,
wears it's coat of frost,
as if it were made of diamonds.
and the light begins it's return,
slow, cold and bare and pure.
Bitten by the cold and shaken out of our veins,
hope, like the evergreen,
wears it's coat of frost,
as if it were made of diamonds.
No comments:
Post a Comment