Well.

hey,
hey.

hey!

I've found it again,
the write things to say!

The words flow,
Like the blood often go,
A dry faucet nose,
****, it's getting cold.

The year,
Once passed,
Held winter,
And it's people,
All in one grasp.

The other hand,
It used to clap.

Applauding the crowd,
The unhappy people,
Cars crashed all around.

Mine crashed.

It's six feet underground.

But it's ok!

I'm free this day,
from all things yesterday.

This winter I remain,
All bits sane.