Once the Earth changed and aged in its seasons so quaintly and correctly,
and she did so all by herself, with sultry autumn winds
strumming bass lines of humming love within the trees. The leaves soon died
because they killed the summer. Drops of winter
would crawl on my skin until spring came in to warm my arms again.
The woods were alive and brave, the roses' thorns could fight all.
You and I held each other so much,
we couldn't hold it all.
Alone, I remember now.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoesíaYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
