| November freeze
|
| Invaded the air
|
| Scratchy invisible breeze
|
| Prickles my shoulders and knees
|
| Trapping warmth everywhere
|
| The spine cracked again
|
| A straw hat has slipped off my noodle but who the hell cares…
|
| …For my pain
|
| When even the sparrows disdain…
|
| …The bug-bears
|
| Ten years have passed
|
| Since I was created
|
| With tatters of mouldy bast
|
| Pulled on rotten chips of a mast
|
| In a garden located
|
| A sack full of dust
|
| A Yule-log disfeatured with fire
|
| Two cans and a besom enlaced by the wire
|
| Corroded by venomous rust
|
| With a rag for attire
|
| The coveys of migrants pass out of sight
|
| All gnawers are sleeping
|
| The lowering clouds devour the light
|
| In the soul of the lonely fright
|
| Leaving me deep in the night
|
| Along with my weeping
|
| Friendless and reflective
|
| Monstrous and defective
|
| Broken and depressed
|
| Just a sickening cross between warder and jest
|
| That’s who I am!
|
| Humbled and dejected
|
| By the winterly thinking affected
|
| Bare and amusing
|
| Afflicted and musing inmate
|
| Dreaming to die in a grate |