Her soul is a sanctuary,
My favorite place to hide.
Her smile a zephyr,
Whispering the secrets of spring.
Summer lovers say,
"Her words fall upon the wind."
But my heart is not a door revolved,
There are few who enter.
And though the cold grow it slow,
Spring is treasure,
For the man who's lived in winter.
Poetry, freewrite, rap from a storyer born and raised in NYC.
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