White wings etched upon dark skies.
No moon nor stars in view.
Bluebells foliage of waxy verdant green.
Flowers, sleeping flowers still remain unseen.
And so she stood, tall and proud waiting for the queen to come.
So the chill wind of winter disheartened the birds.
The moon cried tears of disgrace.
Man in the moon.
Is really a woman with a ***** face.
She's gazing at stars as they pass by in cars.
And the street lights reflect her deepest regret.
It's making her sick.
The chill is inside.
Cold to the core.
(C)LIVVI