Poetry by Nicole Hirt
fog hovers
over Colorado peaks
sculpted with snow
and flecked with pines
Run, run, run.
snowflakes trickle
from a grey sky
tickling my eyelashes
with white kisses
Run, run, run.
cold burns
my feet as they race
through mounds of powder
soft and wet
the alarm blinks on my phone:
“A blizzard is coming. Please find shelter.”
Run, run, run.
Nicole Hirt is a freelance writer based in South Florida. She is an editor at Living Waters Review, where several of her poems and prose have appeared in past issues. In her free time, she enjoys wandering through cemeteries, much to the confusion of the general public.
