[size=large][color=royal blue]Sometimes I sit and ponder this,
One fist opens to a hand which grabs
a hand and together we can...
Hold tight against the cold winter storm,
torn from one household and another...
Whose brother lead us here?
Whose mother shead those tears,
that brought use here.
Was it that fear of dieing so near to joy...
a toy.. was the last image in
my mind, that day of Christmas time...
Sublime I thought that day to be,
But only me, was I so wrong...
Couldn't I have been strong,
standing tall against those cold winds,
freezing my cheekd, my lips, and chin...
Is this the end, starting the day
I was born, or is it just another,
cold winter storm[/size][/color]