It was winter then, pulling back the covers of dream
to sleep, cold occluded clouds to lift
and wake me, a bird flying by
feathers downy fly,
drift, softly
as the
sky
In dreams
beyond stars, night
can but
only
die
poetry & things
It was winter then, pulling back the covers of dream
to sleep, cold occluded clouds to lift
and wake me, a bird flying by
feathers downy fly,
drift, softly
as the
sky
In dreams
beyond stars, night
can but
only
die