Mud Creek

The tip of my nose is cold I always sleep in a t-shirt with my arms bare Because I like to curl up beneath my blankets And create my own warmth I wish I was doing that right now Instead of selling overpriced Christmas trees In an unheated greenhouse The sky is white and the roof is white, Dusted with a fine layer of snow I know the temperature will rise to 63° on Saturday And it will rain And the water will run into the creek Which will turn brown with mud Strong and swift Until it freezes over, and sleeps again