Cold, quiet morning
The faint bursts of something
Sat on a branch
Singing in defiant bursts
Despite the chill
Which keeps the doors closed
Would I sing with such joy?
In the face of bitter, biting chill?
How I might roar,
Plumes of breath
Spilling like unguarded secrets
To run, to play
Despite each second of cold,
Its rough caresses
Making me shake
Like a virgin crossing
The marital threshold
Sing, my friend,
Here, let me pass
A single flame
We shall endure,
Such as we are
With what we have
For whatever time
Remains
MB Blissett 