Rumination on Twenty-one Years of Life
This winter has been far too sunny to be respite, my soul. No chapped panes have framed the melancholy of my tragic face When but two years have past since the winter of scourge, my heart. Then, snow lined walks and bitten limbs pushed in the pussing of my being. A room lined in poetry hidden in ivory towers, I frolicked in myself, Revelled in knowing none. Too many people I have since met, ...