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Dec 2018
“Well...”
A dry voice echos
Of course I wear tennis shoes
On the day they’ll grow wet enough
To go squeak
Squeak squeaking around
The shiny white floors

While my dark hair quickly
Becomes flecked with
White speckles

I feel rather
Like a scarecrow
Doing my best to resist
Nature’s whims
Fighting a losing battle
An inescapable fate

Of being blown away
And buried
In the snow
Anya
Written by
Anya  F
(F)   
301
   Yann, --- and ---
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