1.17.

Frozen open
backpacks
Hand prints on
the wall
I’m my own
best friend
My best friend
is a *****

When people
complain
over those
ditch weeds
We see
the beauty
in orange
tiger lilies

We hate
the cold
But love
the frost
on dead
trees

My only
saviour was
your kitchen
table

Because of you
I wake up
and plot ways
to get
rich and
famous

I’ll follow
the tracks
To the station
South East
I’ll hijack
the railway
On each train
your name
I’ll graffiti

From ocean
to forest
Mountains to
snowy sea
I’ll show
the whole
world
Your love
gives me
reason to
breath