jack frost delights in our suffering
but keeps with him a cloak
just in case he might take pity on
the frozen words we spoke
when we told him all our stories
clouds like flowers in the air
and carved them deep into the ice
like we expected him to care.
with glass he coats the fables
like a child playing games
and his laughter is the wind
that blows against your windowpanes
and the ice is tempting,
because he's just begging you to fall
and only if you have a knife
can you do anything at all.
⚜️🕰️⚜️🕰️⚜️
your comments and feedback are always appreciated ♥️ merry christmas!
YOU ARE READING
mediocre poetry.
Thơ capoems written in spare time, mostly unedited, sometimes romantic.
