• The cold air hugs you tightly
    The white clouds rush in.
    Your body, before,
    Standing in a field of crunchy leaves.
    Your body, now,
    Sitting in a field of dying leaves.

    Like sugar falling on coffee,
    The sky drops white flurries,
    Surrounding your body,
    Now lying in a field of dying leaves.

    It pours and pours.
    The white flurries fall,
    Covering the field of crunchy leaves,
    Till nothing but your body,
    Is the only with color.

    Your body,
    Lying in a field of covered leaves.

    Now as your eyes
    Wander to see,
    Discovers that now
    The field of leaves,
    Are covered with,
    A field of white.

    The barren, shivering trees,
    The crunchy, dying leaves,
    The hot-to-now-cold ground,
    Your eyes seem to have found,
    Are covered with,
    A field of white.

    You lay still,
    Letting time take you away.
    You lay there,
    Letting the sky entrance you away
    From the moment of the white.

    Then as time flies by,
    Your eyes notice that now,
    The barren, shivering trees,
    The crunchy, dying leaves,
    The hot-to-now-cold ground,
    Are to you,
    A White Field.