The Snowfall
The snow is falling down the moonlit bay,
the wind rushing on the gorge.
Your cold head rested on the sand with mine,
with passion, facing the veiled skies.
Suede scorched suit of winter dreams
filled the years passed. And now,
we search through our sacrificial eyes,
speaking with the falling drops of tears.
Copyright © James Arthur Philip Aton | Year Posted 2006
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