Lonely days
Winter rears it familiar face
Sending chills as its messenger
Long nights are soon to come
Blues are follow close behind
like drunks walking into a bar at last call
Why can't you let it go?
What keeps you so stagnant and unchanging?
What is to come?
Weather has no answer
Only itself
Though, for now it matters not
Warmth in any form is now the means of concern
But on hand is a old blanket, tattered with holes
Seemingly comforting and calming
Yet provides nothing but false security and human construct
Would the summer prove any truth?
Only a warm distraction
A distraction that I welcome with open arms
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