If I close my eyes,
I can sense it.
The stiff,
unrelenting
chill.
The brisk morning runs.
The reddened apples piled under trees.
If I close my eyes,
I can remember it.
How it passed every year,
like the mourning of a loved one.
How it tastes like bitter words
from the mouth of an angry parent.
It's the end of warmth.
Winter is coming.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
If I close my eyes,
I can sense it.
The stiff,
unrelenting
chill.
The brisk morning runs.
The reddened apples piled under trees.
If I close my eyes,
I can remember it.
How it passed every year,
like the mourning of a loved one.
How it tastes like bitter words
from the mouth of an angry parent.
It's the end of warmth.
Winter is coming.
