The Final Hours of the Snow
Come, linger and let's watch the snowflakes fall;their delicate feathers driving o'er fields.
And while its beauty veils what once was green,
a budding romance within me does yield.
As whited air breathes pure across the earth,
its cold sighs kissing the snow covered lane,
we lie in contentment by a lit fire,
gazing in silence beyone frosted pane.
And even though its hours are numbered,
its architecture does not leave the scene.
but we'll linger a little while longer,
melting in arms in a world left serene.
Poetry by Kiran
Read 772 times
Written on 2008-01-16 at 14:03
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