Frosted Glass

  Looking through my frosted glazing. A winters Sunday morn. The piercing coldness, so bitter. A wind like razor blades. And my somber music plays. The slivering venetian blinds, so bland. Hiding little of the external Arctic chill. A frozen sparrow lays on the sill, Ready to fall, on dirt, so icy. A meagre frigidContinue reading “Frosted Glass”

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