Winter petals fall to the ground
As the white darkness closes about us.
Soft crunch of feet
And music of descending beauty,
The only sounds heard.
Our hair grows old,
Coats, damp.
You brush a flake
Out of your eye,
And mine feel wet too.
This is where I belong:
Winter, cold, snow, you.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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