Winter’s cold can be a blight
Forcing sensitive to be uptight
Shivering, shaking lost control
Looking for a soft, warm cozy hole.
Howling wind does not let up
Whipping tender
Devouring them up.
Sun is bright but freezing cold
Touching frost
With icicles dripping
Froze.
Marching thru at its own rate
Making us appreciate
Spring’s thaw
Yes
No one can really wait.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2013
Merry, happiness, frustration and pain
All have a place in this house I claim
None are all that places me here
Some more than others
Thats what I hear.
Work thru and challenge heartache, despair
None of which need to live here.
Open the door to the house I call mine
Tread lightly down passages
Down into time.
Touch walls built so safe and sound
Savour the flavour of the air all around
Then pad down aisles and up thru stairs
Glistening with joyous, uplifting prayers.
Cozy and tranquil is my room
Safe from danger, heartache and doom
This is where I live, this is my room
I claim it, I cherish it, I live life here
From birth to death here in my house
Here in my room.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2012
 | Patrice on Let Me Hear The Wind Blow |
 | joannerambling on Let Me Hear The Wind Blow |
| Patrice on Feel |
| joannerambling on Feel |
| Patrice on I Have Heard |
This work by Patrice Clarkson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on work at patriceclarkson.wordpress.com.
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