Untitled Winter Poem

The touch of wool, the rasping scrape
     Across the neck and chin,
The taste of snowflakes on the tongue,
     The ruby-ripened skin,
The crayoned nose, frost-bitten tip,
     The patches where the feeble slip,
The children laugh, the father's play
     And seize the life from every day.

  • posted on 14 January 2004
  • by Jesse


(Minutia)

  • Author:
    Jesse
  • Published:
    Jan 14, 2004
  • Chapters:

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