Home It’s still here; winter Marching to that clove of seasons We remain road-kill Frozen, run over by ice and time Clutching fingers stiffened releasing Any vestige of warm memory And all the light That winter allows To see war as it is (Not the misguided Miscalculations of man) But nature’s Mysteries of the obvious Share this:EmailRedditTwitterPinterestWhatsAppMoreFacebookLike this:Like Loading... Related