wrapping one arm
around herself
she leans toward the
table
though she stares
into space
eyes not looking at
scenery out the window
her red lashes
lowered in deep thought
her red locks tied
in a perfect bun
and yet, her blue
cashmere fails to keep her warm
against the chill of
winter, what she will do
to brave months of
severe weather, loneliness
she feels frozen
like a statue of bronze
waiting for the
summer sun to reinvigorate her
waiting for the
green of life to sprout
for the mossy carpet
to draw her closer
to the fairy dance
of spring
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