' At Winter's Window '

The Wind caressed the Leaves, sending shivers down Their Spine Floating to the Ground, to be together, one Last-Time And Birds, who Flew – Not South – Flapped in a Row, on Phone Lines Gossiping … ‘bout Naked Bushes and Barren Berry-Vines Sir Day… wore Gray, Charcoal-Ash and a Pale, Dull Pewter Looking like an estranged, forlorn, forgotten Suitor Whose Love had run away… to find another to Hold Someone, not so Varicose-Veined, Vapored and So Very Cold… So, the Suitor, stood at her Window; Pressed his Crestfallen Face To show he bought her Pearls and Fragile… Virgin Lace… His Tears, formed Icicles, on Her Window-Sill ‘Til His head, Hung Overcast; Sharp, Dark and Chilled Then, He Touched my Window; I was too Frozen to Move Tho’ He’d gone Below His Temperance I could do Naught to Soothe For such Cool-Fiery, made me Leery To go and offer my Tepid Intervention Thus, I sat at Winter’s Window… Warm Inside with Condensation …