The bitter wind hits your face,
you put on layers, But
are never quite warm enough
always one part that insists on, staying
cold, refusing to accept the warmth
you offer it.
Wools and furs,
Nothing helps, yet when
a roaring fire is waiting
your feet start to realise, they're
defeated.
You look out and sympathise,
With the poor soul running from the hail,
Nose red, hat half off
fighting and losing the battle.
The warmth is shared,
But it's got a special place in it's heart, for
you, the smile is passed,
You realise your home.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 10:24 AM UTC
The bitter wind hits your face,
you put on layers, But
are never quite warm enough
always one part that insists on, staying
cold, refusing to accept the warmth
you offer it.
Wools and furs,
Nothing helps, yet when
a roaring fire is waiting
your feet start to realise, they're
defeated.
You look out and sympathise,
With the poor soul running from the hail,
Nose red, hat half off
fighting and losing the battle.
The warmth is shared,
But it's got a special place in it's heart, for
you, the smile is passed,
You realise your home.
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