It’s ten days before winter.

I will promise this love upon you no matter what.

I’m staying outside for you.

Not only that, but I will love you; the cold, lonely, breezy, and quivery winds hideous people abandon.

I’m not weak enough to not stay.

I’ll stay out here and watch you slowly turn into 

an undying love for me.

Because I love you.

On day one, I shivered in pleasure. My blood is trembling along with my body. 

On day two, I cried in warm tears of exhilaration. “I found the one”

On day three, you held onto me for the first time.

You were timid, yet admirable, and yet amusing…

Day four, I ran and played hide and seek with you,

yet I found you everywhere.

Day five, some of my men left me.

Day six, the rest of my men called me a fool.

Day seven, you left me alone, but hopefully you’ll be 

back tomorrow to hold onto me forever

again, as we promised.

Day eight, I drank, but there wasn’t enough wine.

Day nine, I finally found you in town.

You seemed to be the cruelest lady I’ve ever 

met, as the town faced agony while 

you dipped your presence in a harsh 

roaring lull storm there while feeling delight.

What have you done?

Day ten, we fought. You are a horrible mother.

Children aren’t even asleep,

 as they clamor for you to go away.

Not a sight of a flower peeks any 

garden anywhere through the woods, though the southern 

parts of England, or of the land by the coast. 

You abused the children of nature.

You are no fit of being a mother.

Today, I ran. You’re killing your own progeny. 

Winter is here. My lungs are moving, but barely. 

I can’t reach the soils of this earth as your envy 

for my love of nature, covered the ground in snow and  

my woods now covered in ice; frozen blinded trees.

As winter ends, my heart beats faster in a period of this 

ended longing and faze of winter sickening dreadful love marriage.

Spring will resurrect those children you have long neglected 

in your own selfish desires. You are an ugly, dark, vibrant void.

Never shall you be missed, you deserve to die alone.

Don’t be hopeful for another great man like me.

But it’s ten days before spring now and

I can’t wait to meet her