I awake to the white, weary
my thoughts cocooning inward
stone-cold lace cascading
almost too pretty
to cover the pain
but there you are
still sifting for seeds
through winter’s wrath
not a shiver, or sliver of doubt
that the sun will shine again
A quadrille which is an original form from dVerse Poets Pub.
Merril is our host and has chosen the word “shiver” for our 44 word poems.
Photos from my front yard.