Thursday, July 30, 2009

He Who Is Like God

the flakes gently fall onto my nose
and wet my lips with rosy cold glow
I can see it, a flurry, a whirl
I twirl in the frosty air
over the blanket of white and into the park
all around
the trees are dancing in an angelic show
higher and higher the branches go
rising to show the stars and
mother sky their beautiful gift
of november's glistening snow
and they place you in my arms
my dewy chyrsanthemum boy
I've been drawn back into reality
Your innocent eyes so coy

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