Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Winter Sun

I beg the last
of this year’s snow,
to view the blossoms
why don't you go?

My heart is hardened
by your frosty air,
a cold hard slap
of contemptible despair.

You leave your mark
as a sign of disgrace,
so I turn my back
stand against your face.

So my frozen dreams
and heart undone,
can burn again
under the Summer Sun.

J.A. Scott

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