Poetry

Winter

Soon, dawn withers; even the dew
Minutes shorten, breath goes
Life breaks, and the ground receives

There comes the end to much; even silence
Then words begin to chase winds
Like life. Sober, dry and gone.

We will pay that which is due
when winter comes and cold creates
No peace, like a little gnome

But there will come an end to even more
a single light along the shore, soon embraces the dark
and fireflies, they too, will find it brighter

Truth becomes a cold stone
Memories wilt, when winter stirs the broth
and everyone sips.

ImageCourtesy: galleryhip.com

ImageCourtesy: galleryhip.com

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