A Midwinter's Poem:

(Partially inspired by Songs and People)

Chilly Fingers~

And the warmth of the fire pours through my soul,

The windows glitter in the sleepy lull.

I'm left to my vices, a forte to my virtues,

As my chilly fingers begin pulling for tissues.

Memories flood the gates of contentment,

And I hear the tickling of ivories at last,

And so, for now, in unexpected loss,

I let my chilly fingers finger through my thoughts.

They rustle the pages of past and future,

Dog-earing the dreams that have suffered the worst.

In Midwinter's Chill, as I fall ill to nostalgia,  

Present's icy lock melts, and I grab a spring umbrella.