Through the Pane

The sun warms the room ,but it’s rays are not felt by the grass.
It lays dormant in its winter slumber, painting a brown canvas stealing the color from life.
An icy wind dances through the barren limbs of a tree that doesn’t realize it’s plight.
Green to orange to brown, it marches never slowing down.
There I sit, staring through an icy pane.
Life, death, rebirth, slowly tearing my soul away.

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