Where would winter lay in?
White sheets with rays of sunlight coming in,
Sinks in sandy skin
Rather than its own silken dew of a morning
Oh how Summer would never envy
How would winter say?
Curses like its cool these days,
Turn its stone of a heart a little soft,
And while you trace the words it haunts
the living hallways
Oh how Fall can relate
Would winter stay?
Like brush strokes of wind across the canvas,
It paints a frostbitten landscape
Grown and buried in ice, paraded and stained
Oh to be like Spring, it wants to bloom out of rain
Aug 23, 2025
Aug 23, 2025 at 6:49 AM UTC
Where would winter lay in?
White sheets with rays of sunlight coming in,
Sinks in sandy skin
Rather than its own silken dew of a morning
Oh how Summer would never envy
How would winter say?
Curses like its cool these days,
Turn its stone of a heart a little soft,
And while you trace the words it haunts
the living hallways
Oh how Fall can relate
Would winter stay?
Like brush strokes of wind across the canvas,
It paints a frostbitten landscape
Grown and buried in ice, paraded and stained
Oh to be like Spring, it wants to bloom out of rain
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