Photo by Jason Blackeye on Unsplash

Saturday, February 27, 2021

Winter’s roots have sprung.

Winter’s storm begone.

Under new suns we’ll run,

And dance for each driver—it’s fun.

To songs of our past, how come?

To thank each artist who’ve done,

The unthinkable creations for us.

Now be with our rock from dusk,

To dawn it’s a Snow Moon of trust.

And beauty of light by night,

Bringing day roots of each chilling fight.

Our coldest of this life ignites,

The futures we’ve always seen bright.


Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes because no one can 'read' him. And it's a great way to hide public thoughts...

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