All that is Green.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 09, 2017

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Submitted: March 09, 2017

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Intuition,

for once, 

has failed.

It is not

yet

Spring.

My skin succumbs

to the bitter bite--

to the

familiar chill.

My bones

and teeth

chatter;

for, 

you are not warm

and never

have been.

I shall cling tightly

to my lapels

and deny entry

to all 

but fragility

and doubt.

When did winter

become so golden

and frigid?

Methinks

all that is green

must be denied

it's bloom.


© Copyright 2018 Jennifer Brighton. All rights reserved.

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