Why Must We Suffer This Thing Called, Winter?
Thrifty Word Roundup 100 #50: & 50 #71: March
She’s crying again, and with each tear, a flower dies. The streams freeze. Even the birds cannot fly but dig their claws into branches, bracing the cold rush heading toward them. Her cries carry across the air, turn white, bury green, and even we cringe, awaiting…