by Erika Burt

    Pushing roughly to rush outside, the

    Screen flew off its hinge and the latch on it

    Hooked deeply into my brown leather coat

    Trimmed with sheep’s wool the color of asphalt

    But my eyes, focused on the glory of winter,

    Were not yet weakened by the burning sun

    And its power to make the white snow glow

    The leaves had not begun to wither

    Or shiver from the icy-wet flakes

    As if the burning red flames

    Of the sun shined rays of courage so instead the

    Trees persevered and stood proud and tall

    Even heard a bee whirring around

    It was still ticking

    The yellow and black adopted a new

    Course far past the cliff and soon disappeared

    My feet, stuck in deep snow, held me as

    Needle-like pains stabbed nerves in my body

    My awe, unexplainable and foreign, as an abacus, wants a snowman

Winter by Erika Burt

© Copyright 2009. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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