Winter fog is space where frost crystals grow
It was the day my last roses died
Raucous coughing of a lonely lost crow
Full moon rises in a crispy blue night
On weathered roofs icycles hang low
Steps crunching in sparkling powdery white
Silent mountains high up look to me,
in the valley below
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Ron