W
WizO_Nashira
Guest
*a crumpled piece of parchment rests near the Thorn Tree, obviously meant for the trash. The paper,having missed the trash and been kicked about to it's final resting spot, betrays the inner-most thoughts of the unknown author.*
Snow Storm
Snow falls on my eyelids
Settles in my hair
I look for one to warm me
But no one is there.
I carry stacks of wood inside
Stoke the hearths
keep the lamps lit beside
But no one is there.
In my hollow home I sit
Baking cookies
Watching the snow fall
But no one is there.
Snow drifts up to the window sills
Fires burn low
While I sit very still
But no one is there.
Snow still falls as I try to rest
Eyes stay open
Sleep eludes
But no one is there.
Fabric catches on old calloused fingers
Shirts piling up for gifts
Why do I give them?
Nobody cares.
Snow Storm
Snow falls on my eyelids
Settles in my hair
I look for one to warm me
But no one is there.
I carry stacks of wood inside
Stoke the hearths
keep the lamps lit beside
But no one is there.
In my hollow home I sit
Baking cookies
Watching the snow fall
But no one is there.
Snow drifts up to the window sills
Fires burn low
While I sit very still
But no one is there.
Snow still falls as I try to rest
Eyes stay open
Sleep eludes
But no one is there.
Fabric catches on old calloused fingers
Shirts piling up for gifts
Why do I give them?
Nobody cares.
