running.
trying to escape the cold strangling hold of life.
he climbed and old friend and held tight.
the stiff branches cocooned her, swaying gently and cooing at the weak being that was once so strong; pulled apart by the lies said to be promises of the Golden Days.
it won't be cold forever, she whispered. the winter won't last an eternity.
a single drop landed on her branch. she stood a little straighter, hugged a little tighter.
then she smiled a knowing yet loving smile. the spring is coming.
YOU ARE READING
Painting Butterflies
Poetry❝how i wish to be free like a spring butterfly❞ a collection of what-nots and distant memories. (c) Farah. 2013.
