Sitting on the soft, green grass,
my toes curling,
I feel the warm tickle against my stone-cold feet.
Just like every other part of my dejected body.
My eyes turn towards the shimmering brook.
The only thing I can relate to,
is that sole, desolate tree.
Tear-stains on its bark.
The sky doesn't seem vast enough to embrace me.
So I try standing up...
Try getting back on my feet...
It's too hard.
Too much work.
I need a hand to hold.
That's when it hit me.
I'm nothing but an ice-sculpture.
Waiting to melt...