The trees are dead, naked Disgusting, hideous Some remain, omnipresent While the weak lie lifeless in the dirt I can see my breath Running away from me Escaping the oppression Of solemnness and frustration The stars When they dare show themselves Are the same And yet they are strangers The mad melancholy March sky Reflects the somber mood It speaks to me Of loneliness Of misery Of warm brown eyes Of jet black hair Of soft brown skin Of a sweet laugh Of a soft touch And as the Winter fades away I can’t help but wonder If I shall too
