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.