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When winter is late.

Poetry By: Dino

Tags: Death, Winter, Cold, Snow

Winter may stay long past when it should be leaving. Who knows.

Submitted:Jan 22, 2007    Reads: 163    Comments: 8    Likes: 0   

Oh! I feel it.

The cold is close,

and sharp.

Distant blue fades to

white and is seen

no more.

My senses fail

me in this place,

and as confusion sets in I

see a shadow

of a boy.

In the snow.

With no shoes

on his feet.

His eyes like frosted glass

as he

cuts his gaze at me.

Where am I?

What is this?

How did I get here?

Who is this wraith?

Why does he stare at me?

When can I go?

He takes a mighty step

for such a small boy,

and outstreched fingers,

long since dead,

protrude from the ground

like frozen seedlings

and are crushed

beneath his feet,

while flakes of snow fall

all around us

catching flickers of

the remaining


I know you!!

I scream.

Not yet!



So soon?

so soon.

And as he finally reaches me

and lays his small hand on my shoulder

I pass into velvet

and fare well.

no warmth

no cold

no light or dark

no color at all

an infinite universe of

clear and

passing memories


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