Snow stays on the small fir tree,
The cardinal seems not to notice.
A flutter of wings, and he’s gone.
Like my heart,
but on a string.
Silence and cold remain,
Warmth a distant memory.
musing – dreaming – writing
Snow stays on the small fir tree,
The cardinal seems not to notice.
A flutter of wings, and he’s gone.
Like my heart,
but on a string.
Silence and cold remain,
Warmth a distant memory.