Friday


I like it when it’s cold.

While the seasons change, the sidewalk cries
When the leaves reach the grass, the ants all hide
The branches are a dead kind of grey and the sky
Reminds me of a cold bubble bath I took in May.
When nothing makes noise, when everything is still:
Winter brings us the joy of being alone.
Into the abode we go, to hide and huddle from the sky’s snow.
Kiss my nose to keep the cold away.

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