Cold Winter Mornings
Re, Old Poems...
When dawn rubs his sleepy eyes
To wake, and there is
Frost upon the ground,
Jonathan, the farm boy tumbles
Out of his warm snug bed
And icicles hang
From the roof brown.
The latch feels cold
And numb in the dark.
Grey light creeps in
Mingling, with the dimness within.
Behind it rushes in
The cold air
Freezing the pale skin.
Putting the kettle to boil,
He shakes his stubborn legs,
That won't stir.
Warm breath on his fingers he blows,
Picks the milking pail
And to the barn he goes.
© Gautami Phookan, 9-28-2012, All Rights Reserved
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