Poetry, Structured Free Verse

Willowby

Winter’s breeze flows through barren branches
of a Willow tree,
across iced pond,
new fallen snow,
spied from above.

All that separates sight from sound
is tempered glass,
warmth from inside,
frost upon the other.

“Fly from here”
Winter’s breeze whispers…

Words that scream in silence,
of a vow unspoken,
of a sacredness broken,
cries go unheard…

…yet she is Free.

willowtree

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