The breeze comes softly, Like a thought you didn’t invite, Yet somehow needed. It slips between moments, Brushing past worries,
By Freya2 months ago in Poets
The morning wears a silver cloak, As frost paints patterns on the windowpane. Silent whispers float through the air, Where dreams dissolve in the hush of snow.
The world sleeps beneath a silver shroud, Snow drifting slowly, muffling every sound, Covering streets, rooftops, and forgotten paths,
