Flowered ice paintings,
upon frosted window panes,
amused by the sunlight,
filtered through in veins.
Frozen hinges squeak,
with a crack in the cold,
my years are now numbered,
it makes me feel so old.
The trees are all skeletons,
beyond the gate,
the howling of the wind,
frosted ice winters fate.
Sky is clear and blue,
the sun is yellow and weak,
days are short, nights are long,
the bitter cold makes it bleak.
Author notes
"The trees are skeletons beyond the gate"
A contest entry
- "the trees are skeletons beyond the gate. . ." by JinSays.
937 points, ended November 7, 2008, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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This is absolutely phenomenal
. You've managed to entwine feelings of growing older and wiser with the seasons. Simply beautiful without anything fluffy to get in the way.
Best wishes to you,
jin -
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Thank you very much, my best wishes always.
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This does show the truth of the picture for the contest my darling. I know that you have brought it to life.
Ra
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