Supposed to bed under Sad poems, but ya nature...
This park, deserted
save for Dragon and myself...
The sculptor breathes once
Releasing formed perfection...
Snow fall covers land
like the flowing river, still...
Shocked, because there
in a twist over my shoulder...
Do not want to rain on anyone's parades
Water is much heavier than atmosphere...
We hunters are the watchers at the gates of dawn,
where there is no eve, no noon, or morn...
A leaf curls like ash
wafting downward dry and grey...
The wind.
What is the wind to me...
The glorious gem fields of stars that pierce the...
Across oceans of universal truth...
The days furry settles,
uncovering a new world...
Overpowering cold,
envelops the white tundra...