A subtle step, in the winters snow,
A fairy’s wings, all flutter and aglow,
A fragile heart held in the hand,
Of glass, of frost, cold gold encased.
A crunch of leaf, underfoot,
Catching a breath, not destined to breathe.
A shining sun,
To burn away the ashes, gone.
A gust of life to bring round the eclipse.
Self-expression, is life and death, but an ever rotating circle of re-birth. Just like the seasons I think. That’s my opinion anyway.