A February Tale

An ending vision without the sun In opened streets To where did you run With meager vowels A sudden stench That favors clean towels Beauty arose to become you You became it’s lovely tyrant Visions disclosed We grew ever so silent Indeed you ran Children of this lost land Did you find comfort Within a strangers hand Afford you could not His supplied demand When belief is distinguished What becomes of a beleaguered man The ruminants of an eager and pitied fool With empty palms and scared wishes She held closely these jewels Forgive her For she never knew Her days Would find rest on brood If February were a love story I couldn’t give you a tale That meant more to me But as you can see, In February We long to become a love story