Winter’s cold can be a blight
Forcing sensitive to be uptight
Shivering, shaking lost control
Looking for a soft, warm cozy hole.
Howling wind does not let up
Devouring them up.
Sun is bright but freezing cold
With icicles dripping
Marching thru at its own rate
Making us appreciate
No one can really wait.
© Patrice Clarkson – 2013