Frost
Looking out the window, the tiny
flakes falling to the ground,
covering what used to be a vivid grove.
They clutch onto each other,
blanketing the already dead
meadow. The entire scene appears serene,
full of peace, bliss.
Snow distracts from the empty
limbs of the tree.
Everything looks as if it had been unpainted
No color, no sunlight
Just the lumination from the sheet,
Now a lifeless grave.