Winters were always her favorite.
The cool winds, the small days,
The silent nights,
And the sun tucked away.
A steamy cup, cupped in her hands,
Dancing, oh, the aromas of coffee
Break of dawn, or end of day?
The warmth emanating through her body.
Snow always fascinated her
How it fell, and covered all in her sight,
Every flake so different,
Yet making all alike.
Each streetlight accessorized,
By the flurry, that hurries by,
In the calm, that is a winter’s night,
There is nothing too hard to hide.
Not sure when this adoration
Diffused into her actuality;
How everything just seemed
To embody this deep duality.
The long nights, and endless daze
Icy hearts, and cold, long stares,
Nothing cuts through this reticent exchange.
Stinging truths, hidden with flair.
Winter had been her favorite,
The icy chill, the endless nights,
The muffled days,
Devoid of life, deprived of light.
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