The Rags

the winter is coming , the cold breeze whispered; he clung to his rags , cursed and shivered, the birds fly past to the homes warmer, curious eyes following the back of the lone traveller, chirping as if to awake him in his sleep; he hears them, feel their eyes at his back, and drags the feet on, along did the winter creep, face white as ghost veins visible as crack, eyes fixed on the star in the north;fists clenched, he clung to his rags , the birds mock see it stained, if they only knew how warm it was, for he saw it precious with all its flaws, they have a long way to go and he hushes them away, little things , curious but flew on, it is a long journey and he is damned alone. the wild oaks and the tall teak swayed in fray, leaves rustling under the feet to shake the man, scared, the traveler wanted to flee, the blood already frozen in his veins, but the coat was warm and convinced him ahead: "son, the journey is long and cold , why not dread?" The traveler looked at the star on the north, the blood warm again "coz winter will pass and there will be rain" replied the man,pulled his coat closer , his breath heavy, "but he is in just rags" , he heard them whisper, little do they know, the silk coat kept him cozy , the path gets whiter , wider and the forest thinner, while sky cries snow, heart grows a shade lighter; the cold wind whispers " let go son , it's time". he scowls back, drapes his coat tighter, the rags promise ," there will be sunshine" the wind frowns, bids adieu and whistles away, as the falling snow watches in dismay Covers the red on the white left on the way. and the traveler walks on, his eyes on the star..