Zemira

You compared me to a"beautiful flower."

I don't think I'm beautiful.

Especially not like the pink flower you said I was.

I'd say I'm more like a notebook, 

there, but not noticed.

The moon whispers

Oh so quietly, yet

It is louder than all else

Its words wind through the frozen trees and dance across the sparkling snow, the forest still but for its wavering reminder that

Chamomile tea on a winter's day is

Comforting as a warm hug

Soothing as ointment on chapped skin 

Steaming like the lazy trail of smoke from a chimney

Wonderful like a homemade thank you card