Each Tiny Island
Snow hits the ground
with the temperature falling
Slick city streets reflect
shoes they have seen
Icicles form
on a frigid veranda
Dripping like faucets
somewhere in between
Go to a window
with curtains of satin
Pull up the sash
so that winter can see
Each tiny island
your mind tends to visit
When it is cold
where your feet seem to be
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2021
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