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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Outside... The cold rain is why my old hat feels plastered upon my head, and why the street has a gray look, as if the neighborhood is dead. It’s why I can see every exhale, why there is a hard chill on my sin, which seems to seep down to my bones and take up residence within. It’s why I am now shivering, and why my shoes are soaking wet, why I wish I’d worn a jacket, this fleece was a really bad bet. It’s why the day is so dreary, seems to sap all vitality, November destroys everything, grim month of mortality. I’d rather this rain be snowfall, painting all in muted white, at least then you could ski in it and live up the wintry life. This rain will freeze, gum up my car when the mercury drops at dusk, thankfully this was a short walk ’cause I’ve already had enough. Inside… The cold rain is why flames now roar within my big brick fireplace, why I feel the wafting heat warming the skin on my face. It’s why I’ve got this highball glass half-filled with the spice of Rye, makes the stomach a furnace, a nice glow suffuses inside. It’s why I hear a rhythm pound, soothing patterns on metal roof, and why I sit back in this chair so comfortably aloof. It’s why my dog lays on my feet, Fido knew that I was cold, that mutt does the job better than any slippers ever sold. The rain is why I’ll go with stew instead of something light and trendy, and it makes me glad my wife bough our small, indoor Jacuzzi. I suppose you can’t feel this comfort if displeasure is never had, one appreciates the other, all this cold rain ain’t that bad. …seen through a window, at least.
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