Winter
WINTER
you come, as unwelcome,
as rain on a sunny day,
and you play a game
of how cold you can hurt.
the flowers, the fresh smell
of nature rides on Aeolus,
to different time, different
place, some far away land.
and what stays, dies forever,
or succumbs to await its return.
you hurt, cold, brisk, so
windy, and then you cry.
you cry on all, dry white tears,
that pile so high, we must
pick them up and await the
residue to melt.
Copyright © Delores Allen | Year Posted 2021
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