When the leaves turn gold and rust,
I fold my dreams in warmth anew,
As flannel shirts call from the dark,
Soft whispers of unhurried nights.
Down-filled jackets cradle my form,
A shield against the chill trapping thoughts,
Hot totties steaming with my sighs,
In the quiet, where winter breathes dreams.
I step outside to the crisp morning,
Footprints in frost, their silence speaks,
Each sip a warmth to thaw these bones,
In quiet joy, I find my place here.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: November 3rd, 2024 06:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 35
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments2
A beautifully worded tribute to cold weather and the joy some find with it.
wow - lovely poem, well constructed
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.