The
The beginning was steeped in snowy feeling.
The end was nearing set ablaze by a mind's
curious haze.
As I reach for Spring's maize I fall
upon Autum's days so I stop to give
thanks.
All the while I miss the snowflakes.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.