When the snow melts, it washes
away all the illusions of beauty, and
magic and romance.
So a castle becomes a cold pile of bricks,
the snow-frosted everygreens become a
reminder of vast nothingness.
But as the wind tousles my hair,
my pores stand on end beneath my sleeves.
I am reminded that magic is all around,
even in the dark and dreary,
because there is magic in me.
Comments about this poem (Bojnice by Melissa Mackie )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings