Silvery shoulder length hair and red scarf
draped around her neck
she stands in the snow,
cerulean eyes gazing slightly upwards
towards the ashen sky.
Palm outstretched she waits
to catch the falling ember
of a dying dream
with a melancholic appearance
undeniably inappropriate
for someone of her beauty.
When the dream’s last dying light
has finally disappeared
in her hand,
a new one shall be born.