Cold Old Bones
Winter crept, while we slept,
Into our homes and our cold old bones,
And joints with stiffly (f)rigid digits.
As we awoke the freezing air
Held us fast there in its grasp,
Held us tight with all its might,
We fight to breathe, we’d like to leave
For warmer climes, for heated homes
To ease the hurt of these cold old bones.
Image and poem: ©Denise G Allen, 19 May 2013 20:13
Photo taken with my cellphone a few years ago.
There is creative reading as well as creative writing.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson