Winter

The changing weather of

Winter is masked.

Sometimes a little grey all along

That bruised my palm

All alone as if hanging

The dewdrops in a muddy bowl

The flowers are sordid

A little pansy, shiver stricken

I took my notepads out in the

Blueish grey

The parchment of winter hang around

Drinking, seemed a little noble

As it stiched my past

Into grey sweaters

The touch and go all ripened

And new at the same time

The falcon flew over all along

Waiting for the winter

A little long with grey walls

Of fortresses.