Sitting upon the softened snow,
Her lips, turning blue.
The snow falling down
Yet melting on contact to her frost bitten skin.
The small snowflakes, are singing a song
Of fancy.
The ears can not hear.
For the imagination is
Dancing, Dancing.
Walking on the softened snow,
The temperature is dropping.
Snow is falling harder,
And building up around her feet.
Walking seems inevitable.
The snow seems to change,
From cold, to ten below.
The skin can not feel.
The imagination is
Dancing, Dancing.
Nearing the end of the path,
The snow is now hard.
Her feet gently glide across the ground.
The wind, whistling past all objects.
The snowflakes seem to fade,
From white, to gentle rose.
The eyes can not see.
All senses start to fail.
The imagination is
Dancing, Dancing.
Author notes
My main reason was to get across the points of life and death. Still new at writing. Tell me what you think 
A contest entry
- Phrase Prompts by silverscent.
600 points, ended September 18, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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Nice descriptions. Thanks for entering.
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I liked this very much, peaceful, gentle, a tinge of subtle sadness, the imagery a pure delight. I really loved that line "For the imagination is Dancing, Dancing." The repetition is most effective. It is a well-structured write, most beautiful
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