Cold

Outside my window I see morning. No sun. But soon. A frosty Gray haze seems to loom indefinitely, blending the boundaries of earth and sky into a canvas of endless cold. Pale and ashy is the face of coldness, dull and bitter are the words on her breath. The Cold seems to stare back through the window with such resentment, that it grips the earth, taking fistfulls of grass until Winter is barren.