The hoar-spirited bushes hide and lie...
The old glacier of the ice sky
Wears the hard coffin of chill.
The moon feels cold. It becomes ill.

/The sound of a pack of wolves bites into the wind,
The snow storm roars echo throught the wild.../

by Steven P. Croat

Other poems of CROAT (3)

Comments (3)

.., , a divine write, and beautifully composed ★
Poe is one of the greats..he weaves and.paints such pictures.
How is this poem not in the top 500?