The cold is fierce
It pierces all the nooks
of my old home, even books
Shiver in their spines
and need another cover
to keep them warm this time.
It's all the same, yet it feels
different when the cold is real.
Seeping into my home, wood floors
creak as they freeze under my slippers.
Cup of tea steams, cooling quickly,
need to drink it faster, and write
more and more, to keep warm.
More words appear aided by tea,
under a blanket I warm and smile.
This is a place I'd like to be a while.
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