Pink roses,
picked from my garden,
surround my soul as I sleep in the snow.
My heart is a green, glittering emerald,
heavy in my chest,
with envious energy.
My hair is black,
tied up,
baby blue scrunchie,
and I’m all screwed up,
anticipating spring,
some kind of place
where the sun can reach me,
some kind of peace,
where my ice palace will melt,
and I will be free.
There are yellow lights in the sky.
I arrange them,
name them,
describing them out loud,
so that you might hear.
Open your window and see how beautiful they are.
