The earth stirs,
From beneath
the woolly white shroud.
Tentatively, wary, in anticipation,
Exposing itself
only in bits and pieces-
The top of a tree,
A trotting dog on the pavement,
The silhouette of the tower on the horizon.
Ensconced in the smog
It lay in a sort of stupor;
Missing the Sun’s warmth
to thaw frozen life
back on it’s feet.
Skip to content
Straight From My Heart 