Winter's White Tomb

A quiet village of electric incense

Where the cascades of white never seem to relent

A calliopes' decadence,to which is inquired

If it's whistles of steam,from a flame,have been sired

Carousels wearing a coat made of snow

Breezes that circle where winds seldom go

Winter collects memoirs it creates

As the clouds act as canvas and the snow their white paint

That within the breezes inscribed

With words meant for those whose spirits survive

Their graves adorned with roses from whom

That has yet to join them,but will very soon

From the moment that their first breath was taken

They've been in a tomb most would perceive forsaken

Empty as is life and it's meaning

That which one is living and that which came preceeding

Just as he who stares at the sun

Will not be permitted the subsequent one

We lose sight of who and what we hold dear

Symbolized,all too well,by the words written here

Traced in the tears of a forgotten snow

Those that adorn this long empty chateau 

Melting into what the Winter bemoans

A coat made of roses that the Spring has now sewn