JenniferMaxwell
Senior Member
since 09-14-2006
Posts 1813
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0 posted 03-05-2010 01:31 PM
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- it carries winter’s killing cold across the barren fields where once golden wheat and Vincent’s crows froze in time that all with eyes and heart might see beyond the madness into soul. In another field where stones grow cold all seasons of the year and golden wheat has yet to grow, the wind caresses granite as if soft kisses for an infant’s brow. Fingers trace the chiseled words the children wrote when madness claimed a soul and left them orphans in cold fields of a Vincent winter.
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