White Wreathes

Watching white wreathes
Drifting down
M i d n i g h t spirals down
Winter is in her hair is down
Down to here
An arrow splits the center
Of where they closed the town
For her gown composed of snow
For her love is a forgery
No one is supposed to know
How far she is fallen, or believes
Watching white wreathes



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 617 times
Written on 2014-12-23 at 06:30

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