The Drawing


Feathered lines penciled in on white hillsides she walks
snow falls like tears down the cheek of a woman
her wing, broken and mended too many times
drags in snow leaving behind
nothing
but broken lines

maybe an angel will come this time
lift her from cold and ice
hold her
say nothing

her heart is swollen with Winter
words can’t get in
if you look into her maybe she will weep this time
and spring will come

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