Limp drooping berries upon scratchy hawthorn wood

Peeping red from under their powdery down hood

Too Far Away From Here

Outside my window, icy winds blow.
Piles of white cover the city streets below.
Streets void of life,

January

Trees glisten in the sunrise
Glassy tinsel draped carefully on branches
The thin shiny layer of crunch
Atop yesterday's

Winter Sunrise
(A Retourne)

I wake up early with black morn
for sunrise hardest yet to catch.
Her butter cream and silhouette
etched

Winter Winds

Whipping whistling winter winds
Whispering wandering wailing
Swaying sparkling silver snow
Spinning spiraling sailing

Angry