The Iris Archives

Irritation becomes
vexing to Iris's
that cant bloom
within a winter's
chill.

They left their soul behind
when the sun dipped down
as laughter filled the very ground
of their birth.

Cool breezes allowed them to write
bittersweet poetry to a seedling
that fought a blizzard the year before;
as the last poem died from dehydration.

Tears no longer travel upon cheeks
that cant smile, when Jack Frost devours
you in darkness.

Ink became icicles and nothing will ever be the same again.