A Poem. Found in a greyish-brown slush drift piled high on the side of a street.
When the Wicked Winds of Winter
come slashing down the street,
I'll meet them with a toothy grin and shuffle slushy feet.
The wild wails of panic, the drums of progress too,
will only the get the smallest steps from my heavy leather shoes.
But oh! to hear you voice, to see the beckon in your eyes-
and lo! these frozen lanky legs of mine, they'll swiftly spring alive!
I would caper like a new-born calf or march like tall marines,
or dance because it would make your blush and say I caused a scene,
I would talk ten thousand frozen leagues across these wastelands white-
To be with you and hear your voice and know you were alright.
When the Wicked Winds of Winter
come slashing down the street,
I'll meet them with a toothy grin and shuffle slushy feet.
The wild wails of panic, the drums of progress too,
will only the get the smallest steps from my heavy leather shoes.
But oh! to hear you voice, to see the beckon in your eyes-
and lo! these frozen lanky legs of mine, they'll swiftly spring alive!
I would caper like a new-born calf or march like tall marines,
or dance because it would make your blush and say I caused a scene,
I would talk ten thousand frozen leagues across these wastelands white-
To be with you and hear your voice and know you were alright.
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