between the legs of autumn
upon a winters urge
all the sorrows of the snows i used to know
the chilblain toes of the fire glows
firesnow i think it was called
that tiny pot that cured the pain
the waxy pot of mother’s secrets
snowball fights on glow black nights
with the beacon’s snow aglow far away
tobogganing down the years
sitting behind myself
hitting the depths of the day’s drifting
fingers stinging cold
even after tea and toast
wrapped up in a bed
colder than the iced window
melting the hope of a frozen dream
maybe i will tomorrow
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