Saturday, March 10, 2012
As I wither...
Withering in the bleakness of Cold
Here I'll die even if I have to,
without being old.
For truth, anything;
Even if such chill has to pass through me
like million of needles; pricking,
I will stand still
For I wasn't born to sweep away by wind.
And as I wither,
bring me beautiful end.
Time ! Will you?