Page 8 - Winter Poetry 2018
P. 8
Elsa’s Tears
By Jason S.
Dark clouds move in, light runs for the hills. All noise stops but the whistle of the wind. The shapes in the sky start to cry.
Their icy cold tears piling up high.
Till we’re all trapped inside.
Can't see a thing, the tears have blinded us all. Looks like they may never be happy again, She’s so much sadder than Sandy.
