Cold on my face,
North wind in my hair.
I can feel it's embrace,
As I step from my lair.
Crisp and pure,
I love it's caress.
Winter has the lure,
For me I must confess.
On a drizzly morning,
To amble down the lane.
Enjoying the sting,
Of cold gentle rain.
11/26/10 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem