Bryce Lyne King, a dedicated English major, aspires to publish novels and educate high school level students in creative writing and language arts. She hopes to encourage others in redeeming and reclaiming literature. 2 Corinthians 3:2-3, “You are our letter, written in our hearts, known and read by all men.”


The making of snow in blushing wilderness

Dry wind to swirl each pink-tipped nose
Lead astray by calendared deceit,
The season agrees not with time.

Why he sheds, only the tree knows.
His embers cannot tell me why,
Streets wind, lade in leafy corpses.

The leaves and snow whispering no’s
Rays, beams, stilts of fall to adorn
Puffs of my breath in rose gold air

Through crisp frosty grass, I saunter.
Snowy due sprawled on Oakwood branch,
Forms a hybrid of years’ emblems.

Yet, lingers still, the haunter.
Your red hues contrast the coming
Of flakes and hanging decor lights.

Barren nature too precious for her dole
The Elysium brew from the
Harvest time and a winter tide.

Snowy and warm are the skies of Aunter.

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