Listen to the wind,
Softly kissing your window.
Watch the warm glow,
Of an oak-mounted lamp.
There's poems on the walls,
Fan hangs from the ceiling,
Your hands smell like flowers,
Scratching sound of writing.
The howling of windy treetops,
Still hums from outside;
But it's warm in here,
And you will be ok.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Listen to the wind,
Softly kissing your window.
Watch the warm glow,
Of an oak-mounted lamp.
There's poems on the walls,
Fan hangs from the ceiling,
Your hands smell like flowers,
Scratching sound of writing.
The howling of windy treetops,
Still hums from outside;
But it's warm in here,
And you will be ok.
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