
snow.
felt like a minor chord on a cold cheek,
melting with the baritone voice of a cello.
the trees whisper to me,
promising the last snowfall.
a scorched earth barely accepts
the flakes.
can you hear the song of growth
underneath this frozen land?
an orchestra, a joyful etude from below,
permeating the heart with warmth,
and the promise of spring.
between the end of all,
and beginning of everything.
these crystals are the saddest violins,
fading to applause and dimming lights.
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