Cold by D.D. Wright

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Winter seeps into summer days,
love, bitter and unkind,
decides to celebrate in December,
despite the sunshine of June.

With wrinkled hands,
children run free.
Mothers and fathers,
living vicariously
through
pain that the youth
has yet to meet.

Loud eyes and
quiet mouths speak
candidly
of days when laughter
sang melodies
in May.

Defeat claims the victory
as modern days
erase retro beliefs and
it now snows in August.
Love deceased and
hopefully,
resting in peace,
unlike those who have none
without it. – D.D. Wright

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