Old Silver Key - Burnt Letters


Behind your window the town is falling asleep.
My path is crowned with stars in a pre-dawn sky...
Your room is flooded with spring morning sunlight
My steps are hidden by December snowstorm
With an old white feather, drowned in raindrops
I write you letters on October leaves.
The winds will retell them to you in dreams
and spring will weave into your hair the song of May

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