A Blind Winter

In winter the pain is deep and the smiles have left our garden without goodbye. In its nights I am a shadow over cold trees and in its day I am just a blind owl. This winter is blind and dry, but there are cold smiles and white dead flowers. Believe me, I have tried to plant a pink rose but the hands of this blind winter freeze my heart. Its gray mantle knows the roads of my mute lip and the coolness of my faceless moon.