 |
| winter crouches low upon the back of midnight, paused and poised for another onslaught. wind scythes night, its growl a vicious echo of my solo song to you. rain is frantic at my window, every drop a desperate tear in the fabric of despair. |
| journeys drown in the sounds of distant traffic motion, rain cascades into another storm driven by the spurs of winter, crashing at my window, meeting thoughts of summer, warmth and you in othertimes. a solo song spins out beyond the coldness that would force its way into a tender heart, through the glass between my spirit and this rain that spits its pain against my window in the dark. |