In the hollow place <br />where frozen children live, <br />the colors of truth <br />are a cold little witch <br />named me my mine. <br /> <br /> <br />She is sinking <br />in the river of time. <br /> <br /> <br />Beneath a moon <br />full of hemlock and <br />the gray light of hunger, <br />the river moves <br />like a whisper.<br /><br />David Kowalczyk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wait-18/
