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Winters End

Once upon a time, where the wind blows harsh
And the sun never shines; there is a child-like creature whose smile emanates thousands of little shards.
I once happened upon this little darling,
Sitting softly, swiftly stitching sequins of bold jewels
Captured from a long dead princess, “pretty, pretty” gown

Crouching down, I spied her frost bitten fingers,
Took them into my hands and asked
“What is your story, old one?
“Has time been harsh upon your nimble mind and body?”

And she answered in shards of memories long past, jewels of knowledge nearly gone
“There was once a little girl, who spied this hovel and came to find solace.
Her mother caged like all others creatures, who’ve drunken night and day.
She was missed in the little girls heart”

I grabbed her hair, and swiftly stood,
starring out into the barren ‘scape.
She screamed and swirled her fingers ‘round,
but steady remained my feet.
I touched her temple, pouring the little darling thoughts into the shards of my mind

“She was the simple movement of a rivers bend
just as winter freezes the silent river, it is still, though alive, waiting
for the time when birds aflew from crystal clear waters.

She was the gigantean mother bear lumbering into thy cave, ravaged with passion
Broiled with fierce eyes and hunger although, as
the first snow falls her eyes droop;
the sweet drug of sleep lays a heavenly blanket across her fur
But her steady heartbeat remains, dormant until the first berries thaw”

Her eyes became cold, stiff from years of torment and tare
“But she remained sad,” said the creature, “ still shocked, stolen
from the bright light of summers eve”
“And,” the wings of the old crone dripped, falling petal on petal along the snow
“And,” said the changeling, “ I resolved to wait here for mommy, someday”

“Someday, icy depression would thaw until the rosy cheeks of mommy’s heart would, would stop screaming at me softly
You’re winters blade, my perpetual torment
for the few moments of indiscretion,
Mommy said.

And the sun would shine and wake up as the bear, yawning for her young.
Curl her pink laced glove around my chin, as would roar the bend as the creek freed.
And mommy would no longer look past me with hallow eyes.”

And the wind would whisper, from across the striking hills and slow sweeping streams, “The Winter ends, The Winter Ends….”



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