~~~~~
Oh that ol’ witch is back again
with her frozen breath and icy fingers
whining and scratching at the window
and biting the heads off my pretty peonies
Damn her and her silver scythe
cutting a crooked path to my door
Shouldn’t she be in the arctic regions
where the sun doesn’t shine till midnight
I got things to do in the green days of spring
and a warm dream of hot summer breezes
licking my face with tongues of liquid fire
and sun-ripened lightning
But damn her and her frigid tease
making me see my pretty things
dying on a frozen vine
~~~~~








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