Icy hills and cold breezes that kill
Headphones in, hope this pen never freezes
I zip my two sweaters and the jacket to
The clouds begins to part and the sky is so blue
The snow stops and the wind chills
You can just feel, something looms
Not something bad simply a thing
A thing that has yet to bloom
You know, that thing.
The one that must yield.
we call it spring,
I really hope to see it soon.
Just out lost in a sunny green field.