Julia Roy

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The Death Of Winter

I watched a girl named Winter
With skin of ice and frigid eyes
And a lustrous silver-white mane.

Her frosty lips were silent
Her countenance had long been crestfallen
For she was trapped in a world of despair.

She spent her days tortured by illness and death,
The cruel brothers- who forced her to do their bidding-
Paid no mind to her soul's heart
Which yearned for freedom's soft kiss
And to fill with love,
With gentle, tender capacities;
For in all her years she'd never bestowed hope.

Her wish was left ungranted.

I watched her caged with fire; watched her spirit melt.

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