As i sit here writing,
I watch the cold wind as it tramples over the tops of trees,
He rushes past me whispering omens of none can tell,
He freezeslittle ants on their hill,
He herds people into their homes to get warm,
He tells spring, "Leave"
He whips through my furry coat chilling me to the bone,
Blowing crackly dry leaves farther away from their parent trees,
He numbs my bare fingers as I write this,
He whispers "Go get warm",
Tempted not I stay as long as I will,
Fighting the chill,
As my toes grow cold,
Again He says "Go get warm"
Don't be the fool who goes,
And warms his toes.
Because a fool leaves his inspiration for his pleasures.
That can wait.