The crushed grass burnt from the cold,

Staring back at me through the warm glass that shackle us,

The sun's embrace lost upon the old bricks of the courtyard,

Lights shine from the classes across the way,

As a false hope for there being light on the other side.

Windows breaking the gray feeling of the library,

These blue bricks whose image is forever cast into my mind by my years spent here,

Metallic cylinders of light, 

Their silvery grime shining like prison bars,

Lost to a past world,

Blinding those working their best to get them out of this hell.

In front stands two trees,

Growing together,

With a fading green heart open to the world,

The wind wisps though their branches as they keep each other together,

While others complain of the end of winter's cold; 

These lone trees stand.