Poem
I caught you, my little flake of snow,
Although your hands were not meant
To be captured…
Mountains wanted to be free
Of their shape,
The plains oozed from
Under our words…
I caught you and now
Made you my lover…
The wolves sing
With your sorrowed voice,
The sun’s battling
For another day
While you snow over my brow…
And then I took you home
With me…
Such a lovely poem to meet,
Caught in your avalanche
This time…
And the fire started howling…
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
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