Solitary Mockingbird on a Winter Branch


Still the air when snow becomes,
When flake on flake lays down
Upon the one below and comes,
Another then without a sound.

And crystal palaces lush,
Hold every creature cold,
Now thickened with the winter flush,
Embrace their lover’s quiet hold,

As silent white enduring,
Wakes natural interlude,
For lives we thought secure in,
To now reflect incertitude.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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