Frost

Looking out the window, the tiny

flakes falling to the ground,

covering what used to be a vivid grove. 

They clutch onto each other, 

blanketing the already dead

meadow. The entire scene appears serene,

full of peace, bliss.

Snow distracts from the empty

limbs of the tree. 

Everything looks as if it had been unpainted 

No color, no sunlight

Just the lumination from the sheet, 

Now a lifeless grave.