|
The nylon wind sock under the
arbor,
Speaks to us for the north winds labor.
Chilly, cold, shivering blasts freeze,
The winter sun is as pathetic as a sneeze.
We are not in the least tormented,
And you ask, "Are you demented."
"No," We say, "We simply burrow down,
Bundle up until we look like a clown,
Sip hot soup of peas, green onions, carrots,
Snuggle against stove together and in pairs." |
