How could snowdrops be said
in the same poetic breathe as blue February?
But Anna has learnt
its best to trust her own instincts.
She never believed in canopies
foral invitations were never her thing
just the cold sun streaming
on her blind-side
strolling,
Nye nervously trembling
for the right inspiration.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
How could snowdrops be said
in the same poetic breathe as blue February?
But Anna has learnt
its best to trust her own instincts.
She never believed in canopies
foral invitations were never her thing
just the cold sun streaming
on her blind-side
strolling,
Nye nervously trembling
for the right inspiration.
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