My heart aches
with a passionate mark
when the birches barren lie,
stay, pungent earth
red bruised berries,
Alaska’s growing things;
Let not winter’s hoary
white fingers
bury your resplendent face.
By Claire F.
My heart aches
with a passionate mark
when the birches barren lie,
stay, pungent earth
red bruised berries,
Alaska’s growing things;
Let not winter’s hoary
white fingers
bury your resplendent face.
By Claire F.