A Self Portrait...

04 March 2016

Bone Cold

Wind roars down the chimney through every gap in doors and window even double glazing offers no protection

Its cold, cold beyond hands and feet, cold pounding flesh and bone. So cold.

The rain is not childhood drops racing down glass its hammers and nails on windows

The relentless, blistering daylight is the colour of sludge.

And the rain won't stop,

And the wind has set up home in the chimney

All the baby leaves are under attack and not yet open daffodils struggle to stay upright in the storm tossed grass.

No tree is too high, no blade of grass too short

March winds and April showers where does it say you get both on the same miserable Friday afternoon?

When nothing you want is anywhere near and so much you hate is within walking distance.

All the little folk must huddle in groves and nests

Fragile wings would be at risk this day

Days start with hope who looks at a birth and says he's doomed?


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