Sharp, biting gusts whip at my coat;
With woolly scarf entrenched round throat
I venture out in icy blast
To keep warm, I must step forth fast!
The sun peeps out; its feeble heat
Not yet reflected off the street
Does not convince me Spring is near:
Wearing gloves still de rigueur!
Cobwebs by brisk winds swept away
Artwork for another day ...
And though I’ve not worn rouge for weeks
The chill brings colour to my cheeks!
Chase what remains
of blue away
The wind meanwhile, unseen, is heard
As scattered street debris is stirred…
I venture forth, tasks to be done
And search in vain for Brother Sun;
At least, for let the truth be told,
My stupid mask keeps out the cold!
(c) Poet in the woods 2021
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