cold (Remove filter)
Silhouette
Silhouette
Midday's sun lifts to touch the faint horizon,
a pale discus rolling slowly along,
then gone. The lonely writer, limned in crimson
at her window desk, her ego strong,
her spirits cold as the icy scene before her,
shakes her head, breathes deeply, turns blind
from winter as snow begins its feathery fall;
The heater roars its warmth like an angry hin...
Thursday 23rd February 2017 11:48 am
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