As the Meadowlark rings true i found my way back.
How gaily the past few days have greeted me to only turn the wisps of hair into a ratted mess.
News has reached the day and i should say it is not well. You ask what i speak of and i rather refuse. My fingers slide along the stem to snip the base of each flower, rescue the beauty that stands in harms way.
The frigid lips blow again. Snow and icicles to block the buds from growing. How shall i apologize? I prayed for the warmth and your glow covered me but i look to the east and shudder.