Cold And Warm Town
The trees, though still, are speaking in the breeze.
Quiet words flying upon the fallen leaves.
Yesterday children running in the park.
Now windows closed, gazing sparrows on branch.
Heavy jacket, a scarf, my company.
Loneliness around, empty silence.
Cold but peaceful wind blowing on my hair,
hissing like a warm bullet, not fair!
On the walls, of distant towns, only holes.
Sparrows searching for coal in the flames.
Ever producing factory that drops.
Maybe the cold is better, my town!
Some have put on the black army boots,
others, are reading at a warm cozy corner.
Stories about peaceful times honey.
When they go down who’s going for money?
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