Misty mornings make one cold
when the weather, windy again
dries the drops of dew and.. damn
it’s cold, cold I cry. A cold
snap! It snows, snailing flakes
of white, water’s wintry form.
Surely sheets of shimmering white
won’t thaw. This night of thistle.. no! Mistle-
toe, when two will touch their lips and
kiss, as Christmas comes this winter.
I stop my stream of steaming thoughts
and walk my way to work. Oh damn
I cry, I echo my call. That day
is far, too far but fear I don’t:
My thoughts will thaw this thinning ice.
(With thanks to HL)