Tuesday, February 1, 2011


At home,
I'll write a poem.
Finally a place to call my own.

It seems the days are getting colder
Every time I'm feeling bolder
Forgetting to look o'er my shoulder.

All alone.
In toque and slippers
Sipping tea.

No doors or windows keep from me
The terrible draft -40 brings
So I will sit and dream of springs
And summers sitting by the lake
Far from shivers that make me quake.

All alone.

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