A young woman sat against a tree next to the path that I walked.
From a distance I saw gold drift slowly downward to adorn her head.
As I neared she took off her crown and observed it with wide, blue, spectacle.
Passing I heard her speak with sad knowing.
From a distance I saw gold drift slowly downward to adorn her head.
As I neared she took off her crown and observed it with wide, blue, spectacle.
Passing I heard her speak with sad knowing.
“Winter is a terrible lover. He dresses up nice, but leaves you feeling nothing. Autumn puts on her best dress, yet his cold hands squeeze out the last bit of life she has left.”
The wind whipped up, stealing what she held loosely between her fingers.
It was carried far away and while we watched the woman spoke once again.
“Do you feel his breath upon your neck? It gives you chills that remind you of Summer’s warm arms and Spring’s soft sighs.”
Before I awoke I tried in vain to comfort her, but I was pulled away in the next frigid gust.