t began
by whispering
through the olive tree,
it shouted through the stone pine limbs,
the windchill froze
the marrow in my bones,
and sent ice spiders
crawling
up my spine.
Goose bumps rose on my bare arms,
and not even
a sweater could warm me;
I remembered winter
in Oklahoma.
Visit My Portfolio @
Writing.Com
No comments:
Post a Comment