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,
Hands clenched,
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.

The End

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