Shining in the cold, winter air, piling on my hair
Jewelries of heaven called my friends outside
Under the roofs, with coats and gloves
My five year old self was hoping mom not to see what happened to the jar piled by snow
The biggest paper drawn on top of the world
It allows us to start again with relief
When there was nothing shining in the town
And nothing special than golden places
Snow falls and says
Isn't every thing the same?
The clear, bright snow piles up on our minds
1 comment:
great title, ending line (how it affects us)
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