Blinds become bars in the smallness of this room
When out the window wait greens and blooms
And all this drab decoration disguises my tomb.
But when the blinds conceal a greyish gloom
And frigid flurries threaten and loom
I am happily trapped in my winter womb.
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 6:21 AM UTC
Blinds become bars in the smallness of this room
When out the window wait greens and blooms
And all this drab decoration disguises my tomb.
But when the blinds conceal a greyish gloom
And frigid flurries threaten and loom
I am happily trapped in my winter womb.