Mark R Slaughter (1957)

A cracked lip; raw skin.
I pined for orange flickers
Dancing off a cheery fire.

A gelid blast of arctic air
Had caught me unawares -
Reinforcing my desire.

Turning down an avenue,
I froze; suspicious trees -
Likely destined for a pyre -

Were laughing off the icy chill
Of callous winter nights.
And I? Simply to retire

Snug, inside a balmy chair
Of warming solitude:
Ah! my carol, my festive choir.


Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009










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< br>Winter winter winter winter winter
Winter winter winter winter winter
Winter winter winter winter winter