Vapours
The cold like a swarm of furious bees, stinging
a thousand wings on the skin, and eyes fill with tears.
I stop the car by the road
I walk down the path
to the river
to the vapour
rising.
The cold like a swarm of furious bees, stinging
a thousand wings on the skin, and eyes fill with tears.
I stop the car by the road
I walk down the path
to the river
to the vapour
rising.