Turn Of Leaf
Winter with thoughtful wings slips upon
When her voice is too frail to hold life—
Everywhere green, this light she's from;
In gentleness back the forest bites,
As feathery flakes shed through all with white.
Though sun beams on frost's admirable silk
At this true angle on my window sill,
While the glass in me seems to be dying—
When dead leaves lose their beauty's will,
Toned blossoms, out of Winter's ghost, spring.
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2024
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