It wasn't the kind of December I barely knew,
But it also wasn't the kind I always do.
You still clothe me of frost from the rain,
But why though I felt more of the pain?
They'd say things never grow on December,
For all be buried deep cold, remember.
Time must have been catching his laughter,
Seeing me and my so-called things wither.
YOU ARE READING
Haikus & Thoughts
PoezjaMy personal collection of haikus and thoughts. All photos credit to google images.
