Now the winter sun
feigns a truth.
And wearing the white
robes of a queen.
The early spring flowers
sneak through the
arms of the night.
The whisperings
of earthquakes,
are at hand.
And all of natures
nerves, are laid bare.
First spring flowers
Now the winter sun
feigns a truth.
And wearing the white
robes of a queen.
The early spring flowers
sneak through the
arms of the night.
The whisperings
of earthquakes,
are at hand.
And all of natures
nerves, are laid bare.
A Wandering Poet 