Monday, January 08, 2007


The roots whisper under soil
blanketed below
wintering trunks they survive.
Above frost ices over morning
cold air thickly chills,
leaving a frozen white field
subdued in silence. On top
of houses, over chimney pots
settling flakes layer streets with snow.

Every day now
I dream of nature green
when sun shines on
every sad thought
when moths stretch wings
to fly into the moon.

1 comment:

Joykie said...

wow... this one's good.
your style is similar to shelleys. apparently he looks like you too. hehe.
you are my percy bysshe shelley.
i am your jane claire godwin.
let's make poetry, baby!