WHERE THE WIND BLOWS

WHERE THE WIND BLOWS

The trees of the forest shiver and shake.

Their long limbs tremble from the next quake.

Their bodies blaze a frosted white.

With tears frozen from their new plight. 

The world has become hard and cold.

My trembling body feels old.

I’m surrounded on four sides by white. 

The bright glare has blinded my sight.

White is the color of my nightgown

As I stand and shiver with a frown.

A shadow emerges from the trees.

I hope it is not him, pretty please.

My body moves forward against my will.

I grab a thick tree and try to hold still.

I dig my feet into the packed snow,

But I must go where the wind might blow.