tulips waltzing in wonderland
wind chimes singing the hour

we are but ghosts
observing the memories
captured by photographs
held in twig fashioned frames

fingers like the branches of trees
when the seasons are in between
and its cold
but you know warmth will smile down
opening the timid flower buds
chasing the blue dusted dawn
with plenty of tomorrows
to be held up
towards the morning
sun