Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

When I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...