BY VALENTYNA HOLLOWAY
Slowly the arm of Winter creeps
along the grass, the frosted flowers
shivering in the chill before
the powdered coloured dawn.
The trees begin to dance, their
bareness showing their beauty
as the leaves applaud from the ground.
The season on display, lights
entwining needle-filled branches
as red berries dot their bows.
The world rushing into darkness
as if it is seeking the twinkling
brightness the obsidian sky brings—
and I, I search for mistletoe
and December roses so I can feel
secure in the knowledge
I am still your blossom.