frosty

how’s it going
on your side
of perspective?
i hear that
new flowers
blink sleepily,
blinded by
melting sunshine
on snow studded
meadows and
the breeze;
while silver
white winters
now burst into
springs, you
will look to
your right,
blink an odd
seven times
as you swallow
your love for
the wintry
snowman who
waited and wept
in your backyard
as you flurried
right by him
each morning,
shuffled back
without a glance,
left him in
the cold with
bitter kindness,
you grow up to
soon to worry
about sentiment,
too late to
hurry time;
why don’t you
lay back on
your new faded
red cushioned
seat by the
cold, sneering
fire ’til
snowflakes bring
wake at
your window at
night, you walk
to the starlight
and the leaves
hide your
faded red blush
on your cheeks
from the cold,
the snowflakes,
they come, kiss
your nose and
eyelashes, your
heartbeat, so
you never grow
old.

T. E. Pyrus

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