Under constant grey,
imagine laughter and running free.
Curly hair, vanilla twilight.
He was always there,
even the worst of nights.

Big bug eyed,
he could see through the
'it's okay' lies.

Soft hands, smooth face.
The crook of his neck,
tranquility and blissful peace.

He's a constant reminder,
learn to love life and its flow,
take everything in slow.

He's a remedy,
the kind for even the most broken of souls.

He's the wind, he's the rain.
He's the snow on all of my bones,
he's the place known as an old home.