She was like the winter;
Cold,
Dark,
Bitter,
Harsh,
And dead inside.
But once she thawed out,
She was the like most beautiful spring;
Warm,
Happy,
Radiant,
And full of life.
YOU ARE READING
Untitled Poetry
PoetryNothing but a bit of random poetry in the form of jumbled thoughts.
Seventy Eight
She was like the winter;
Cold,
Dark,
Bitter,
Harsh,
And dead inside.
But once she thawed out,
She was the like most beautiful spring;
Warm,
Happy,
Radiant,
And full of life.
