• woodsorrels 9w

    Winter At The Peephole

    Cold is here
    The window panes are sleepy
    And the air is yawning
    Morning wakes up late at 9
    Daylight and sun have parted their ways
    The sky is all outfitted in bone-white
    Yet clouds don't stop to sway
    Round the canyons and cliffs
    They sneak into the little spaces
    I see the frost on the ground
    Shaking shoulders to a pat of rain
    Like the falling leaves on a windy day
    Trees have untucked their gowns
    Branches rest naked
    For the hardships of winter
    To seep into their skin
    And strengthen the scars
    Power poles lay catty-cornered
    For the storm to deliver a direction
    Wires are pregnant, with snow
    Breathing on their waist
    Like an insurance
    With hands holding hope
    Somewhere on the hopeless horizon