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Snowflakes
April 20, 2014
It was a bluish frosty morn,
And the sky was pale.
The sun had not risen as it's worn,
And the wind is fast as a gale.
I feel goose bumps rise,
And I cuddle upon my bed.
I lit a fire to make me nice;
Comfortable and warm intead.
The snow is falling to heaps,
As whitish as you have ever seen.
The poet himself wonders and leaps;
From the window of the room he'd been.
A bizarre feeling crept through it,
And I couldn't wait but write.
I scribble the beauty of winter a bit;
In little cosy words as I might.
© Jessica P., Bethel Park, PA
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