England.

England.
Covered in snow.
Such silent art
Outside my window.
And I feel
As lost as the sun.
What wind could blow frost
That is spun
Into galleries of white.

From a farmhouse,
A distant light.
That bathes someone's soul.
Burning in a grate
Of wood and coal.
Rogue flames,
Flicker and dance.
Charming their audience
Into trance.
And I feel
As lonely as the trees,
Bereft of winter coat.
Left by summer breeze
For the snowmen to gloat.
And every season has its way,
Be it so brief.
And I look up to the stars,
Like a single iced leaf.
Abandoned to die.
And
From England
I send my dreams
To fly.
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26-30
Jan 19, 2013