A Warm Glance Through a Cold Window
By wax and comfort I recess
With smooshed shoulders squeezing betwixt
The cushions, my gaze imploring
Those streams which weave the clouds, that they
Would gift our drab city kinder
Weather. For three days’ suns have set,
And the third night’s moon now rises.
Further, the clear walls which withhold
My inner consciousness, even
The ones which grasp my mortal form
Permit that my sight be loosed on
Only the colder things outside,
Which when approached grow more solemn,
Until the fiery sun gives
That gift of sweet, sweet free hot breeze.
Oh- to partake in His fullest
Sunlight brought blessings packed with heat
Which soaks past my pores and into
The deeper man, giving him what
Energy he needs to survive
Another weary winter, to
Grow old outside the walls. Again
I dispose to wanderings and
A warm glance through a cold window.
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