I would say, with skies of grey,
This is our coldest winter’s day.
The skies of blue have blown away
And the cold, I fear, is here to stay.
Sulky clouds hang overhead,
Frowning at those still abed.
The damp wind breathes its frosty breath,
As cold as ice, as cold as death.
We huddle in our warmest coats,
We wrap our scarves around our throats,
We glove our hands and sock our feet,
We cap our crowns, oh so discrete,
Before we head into the street.
©Denise G Allen, 05 July 2013 06:19