I walk out of the door
The cold cloaks me in his wintery arms
I look out into the world
The tree’s without their green hats
The grass concealed by a thick, colorless, blanket
The usual, optimistic, sky faded to a jean-color
But look! There! A drop of colour! A lonely crimson flame, atop a line of verdant. How a lovely blossom can survive this bitter cold, ‘tis mysterious, so very unknown. But so very great for something not so dull to strive! To live it’s very life,
In the stinging ice…
In the very wintery cold