I woke up from a slumber,
on this day late in December,
to find the ceiling fan spinning,
to find the biting cold missing.
The world hates this season,
for a multitude of reasons.
But I love cold, harsh winters,
like I love the sound of burning wood splinters"
People of this world don't appreciate,
the strange charms winters create.
They don't care to notice,
the beauty of silence and peace.
Oh, how I miss the fog,
the engulfing, blinding fog!
But what I miss the most,
is my breaths turning to mist.
I miss those several layers of warm cloth,
and those moments of sloth -
when my bed held me captive
and blankets ******* all attempts to get active.
I miss the rush to the high hills,
to enjoy some snowy chills.
I miss this season of quiet and calm,
for its fog, its mists and its eerie charm.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
I woke up from a slumber,
on this day late in December,
to find the ceiling fan spinning,
to find the biting cold missing.
The world hates this season,
for a multitude of reasons.
But I love cold, harsh winters,
like I love the sound of burning wood splinters"
People of this world don't appreciate,
the strange charms winters create.
They don't care to notice,
the beauty of silence and peace.
Oh, how I miss the fog,
the engulfing, blinding fog!
But what I miss the most,
is my breaths turning to mist.
I miss those several layers of warm cloth,
and those moments of sloth -
when my bed held me captive
and blankets ******* all attempts to get active.
I miss the rush to the high hills,
to enjoy some snowy chills.
I miss this season of quiet and calm,
for its fog, its mists and its eerie charm.