bottle moss glass

those piercing green eyes spoke of blades, sharp objects to center her soul

his darker moments hiding in the fading light

of a Winter’s heavy sigh,

leaves will soon fall,

spreading as if a thick blanket on the cold stone pavement

a gentle welcome for the first soft snow

you see, he was born in the days that spoke of short hours

and too long nights

the green of his glassy windows

the only sign of a longed awaited spring