Are we flowers grown in winter?
Let's shed this hollow frost-
I want to be real.
But what can we do without breaking?
Or are we floating along
Nipping at the
Tangles of tumbleweed
Never giving this ghost town
A second passing glance?
Wandering beauty does not have a name
Though it withers, it will not fade
We know spring comes somewhere,
And we know which slipstream to ride.
But for all this ice,
And bitter, frigid cold
This wintry field of flowers
Makes life a prison worth wandering.