Flower petals caress her enchanted lips,
Dew drops fallen on the wildest of roses,
She can not keep her heart bound, away from what is her,
As vines and thorns intertwine her soul, it is all theirs.
Singing to the mountains she hears them reply,
There will be another spring, no need to cry.
She pleads to the winter’s frost covered blow,
To allow all the flowers to hum and glow.
So, there she sings to the mountains above,
While her fingertips become the meadow’s final flaw.
She is no longer the snow,
But instead, the winter’s kiss.
Her heart sings I am the sister of spring,
I am the daughter of night,
As well as the promises of another life.
About the Creator
A. Raphael
Poetry is my first love, and writing words onto paper is my therapy. Maybe my submissions will make you feel something, too.
If you find something in my words, then it is my pleasure.
A. Raph
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