Up in the sky the sea gulls fly.
They are seen so white.
Beneath the hills are brown and black above
Sheep gaze the frosty meadow,
While golden sun parts the hills above.
Winter is fickle here…
Beautiful as a dying thing,
For those who have faith in resurrection.
Sun and birds are seen on the horizon,
Sheep gazing the grass don’t care,
Only I am stranded here…
© 2012 Pimmi Nag