Winter is beautiful, she thinks. The world is draped in a filament rope of immaculate white, and dainty fingers of sunlight caress her creation with exquisite esteem. It filters down from the overcast cast like a spotlight, and the snow glitters palely beneath it like a crystalline ballroom. Steam funnels from the maiden's nostrils in tumescent plumes as she beholds the wintry artwork, eyes of deep, oceanic blue glimmering faintly in the early morning light. |
Poetry of the earth [open]
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11-20-2012, 06:55 PM
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