The Crestfallen Shroud Poem by Patrick Czyz
The Crestfallen Shroud
Roaming throughout the void sky
With a cold crown above a frigid face,
It stares at life with icy eyes.
Rage. Cold rage.
Descending down green, vivid mountain slopes.
Scraping off summer stained joy.
Screeching the snow fallen curse.
Making all crestfallen.
Oh, there is no escape from
Those long, frosted arms and cold hands.
They will pull that pale white shroud
Upon every green, vivid mountain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 7:20:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
