I fin’lly found the reason why
It is not heat or wet or dry,
Or windy weather that I hate –
It’s cold that I’d eliminate.
It bothers me like needle pricks,
Like being beaten by some sticks;
It shivers me like spirits, spooks,
In icy rivers, frozen nukes.
Old Winter meets me face to face
With his cold breath, without a grace.
He grabs my ears with frigid hand,
And holds them till I cannot stand.
He numbs my nose; he frosts my feet;
He makes my toes mere slabs of meat;
He fills my hands with aches and pains,
And when he’s bad, befuddles brains.
Cold is a blight to man and beast,
To those who starve, to those who feast.
It is not bias that averts –
The reason why is that cold hurts.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.