The cold wind
T he cold wind blows outside, playing with the falling snow each tinny one-of-a-kind flake of which is by itself a work of art, and it knocks on my window wanting to come in, my frigid playful friend, jealous of the warmth inside my room. and so he knocks and knocks, singing a mournful tune leaving on the glass that protects me from him beautiful little snow flakes as a parting gift and thankful, I with wonder fill, because of what I see, for what I feel and for the joy brought to my heart by... Sign in to see full entry.