Tonight the cold is like a murdering thief
Who cannot decide how to do you in,
He wraps his icy fingers round you,
And plunges a cold searing knife,
Through coat, scarf and sweater,
Until it reaches skin and bone.
Is that mean spirited
To think of cold this way?
I think not because it is he,
That acts this way.
Cold brutal cold,
Go back up to the north where you belong,
And as you go call back your
Southern Brother,
I can take a bit of both of you when you meet,
The breeze from each of you
When you meet in the middle is sweet.
Peter Lowell Paulson
January 22, 2011
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