Catharsis is perceptual

For winter was cruel
Only to the bones
Her eyes plunged
Itself into the joyous sea
Of a colour palette
Paler than usual

A little less honest
And, it felt like home

As sand grains shone
Brighter than the wobbling
Reflection of Sun
On which the dead
Owl butterfly floated
Leisurely
When the tired horizon met
Her dead wings
Tides hushed my prayer
And, closed her eyes

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