Wednesday, 6 May 2015


Winters wonderful trees layered in crisp white snow.
The sun shines on the freshly fallen snow giving it a bright fascinating glow.
The sharp icicles drip from a cave ceiling and land on my toes removing the feeling. 
The powerful powder white snow who's my face as I struggle across the street. 
The wild wetness seeping into my shoes soaking my feet. 
My marshmallows drown in my steaming hot chocolate, their screams growing fainter by the minute. 
This poem is almost ending and your probably sad to go but the moral of this story is don't eat yellow snow. 

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