Winter memories

Clouds of memories pass my eyes,
I watch their mystic glow
that ripen in the stormy cries
of winter’s wind that blow.

Cinnamon drifts within the cup
I lift unto my lips,
I close my eyes and gently sip,
the liquid warms my fingertips.

Sunrise must be on its way,
the morning air is cold,
I walk upon the break of day
in shadows tinted gold.

The grass lay like a sheet of white
with frost upon its leaves,
I stand there breathing in the sight,
my mind recall lost memories.

Youth still rules my hand
in every sunset, every rise,
that break upon the land
before the memory of my eyes.