Every so often
The world gets so cold
That no matter what
No matter how hot it burns
The Sun cannot warm
Its third closest friend
The leaves all give up
In a falling fire of color
The rivers cease to flow
The land doesn’t move
So why should the water?
Withered hands rise
From the dry, cracked dirt
Fingers cracking, crumbling
In the heartless
Winds once warm
When they carried the air
Of the long lost Summer
Cold and alone
Until tears start to flow
A crack in the ice
Opening up
Accepting the warmth
The Sun wants to give
A Life in Poems 