Oct 15
Emily Van Dyke's picture

Winters breath

I feel her sigh to me in the morning,
as the trees reflect the bitter cold air.
I wait for the air to sting my face, 
and the tips of my fingers.
i reflect back,
to the days of the sun melting
to my now stinging face.
i beg for her to come back,
her hair is now falling from the trees,
her eyes of water, shifting to hard ice.
She tells me to wait, to hush my bitter.
she will be back,
but for now we must let
winters hair cover the trees,
let her grab your coat, allow 
her breath to make the air cold and new,
because that is what hot cocoas for.