Winter At Last Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Winter At Last
Winter at last
Winter came and we all complain
Even pen:
'It is cold; I am dead.'
But each one in own way.
Numb are toes, my fingers, badly pale
Eyes blind in cloud of exhale
Turning mist, smother!
And sky Gringo; is bastard
(Ice-figured, sharp-dressed, is blue and grey.)
Looks and laughs
(As do the one percent who use us as slaves.)
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: seasons
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4/19/2024 3:26:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
