it matters not these stinging raindrops
winter's outrun; the pursuer alights
- an insurgent swift as leaping flames
roots rally in the rot of litterfall
waning embers of smouldering golden reds
the ice has given way and fires subside
around March, when winds blow by
Putting some heat into 44 words for De’s ‘Let’s Fire it Up‘ quadrille
PoetryPix 