Ellie belfiglio

When I hear this sound that awakens me, intimidating its way into my cloistered night, I write…


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“DRIFTING- FLOATING”

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The snow wafts,  soft

Drifting, drifting…

Low whispering wind

A zephyr- like blow

sending each flake a merry whirl

Floating, floating…

The minuet swirl…

Weightless dancers

Pirouetting…

In lace, pale waltzers

A trace, not having

Of where they have been

Rising, falling…

And giving no hint

Of where they are going!! …

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“Ellie”

The images are from bing.com…

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