White Forest
We walked,holding hands,
fingers weaved,
through a forest of white.
My scarf wrapped tight around my neck,
coiling, constricting,
the warmth was so inviting.
The wool from his gloves,
rubbed against the wool from mine.
The forest was quiet
as snow compacted and crunched
under our wandering feet.
My breath crept out and rose before me.
And we didn't say a word.
The snow glistened delicately,
every sparkle adding to my imagination.
Black branches sagged with the weight of heavy snow.
And sharp ice cycles glimmered and dripped in the faint sun.
All we needed was each other,
and that's a good thing,
because that was all we had.
By: Brandi Deacon
2009
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