Bright grey clouds
On hanging trees
Whose branches bob
on a song-lit breeze
The threat of rain
Hangs cold in the air
like the rumors of snow...
I wish I could care.
Enough to hope for the real winter's chill
But to hope, for me anyway, bodes ill
The opposite happens when I dare to dream
When I get what I wish for
They're not what they seem
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
Bright grey clouds
On hanging trees
Whose branches bob
on a song-lit breeze
The threat of rain
Hangs cold in the air
like the rumors of snow...
I wish I could care.
Enough to hope for the real winter's chill
But to hope, for me anyway, bodes ill
The opposite happens when I dare to dream
When I get what I wish for
They're not what they seem
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