Escaping Death

 

I can smell the death playing at the edge of spring.
lips humming a soft tune, like rose petals.
my skin itches, twitches under the touch
of cold gloom, slowly sinking in.

i cant keep buried under the snow much longer,
my toes are starting to show,  the hounds
with fur like summer air, will be coming.

if i were beautiful like moss and tree branches,
i could living forever, hidden in the earth.