Ronald Chapman


Cold Dreams


Today I woke up tired,
Looking out my frosty window,
The sun was still asleep,
Cow and horse no more,
Birds have flown the coop!


But I have to say, "It's as cold as a corpse within its grave."
The wind, so cold, makes my hands shake!


This winter ahead is a big pile of pooh.
I hate you!


Spring; you always hear the birds sing.
Them damn birds, I miss them waking me everyday,


As I wake on a grassy hill,
Whoa!
Only a dream!
It's still only spring.

Submitted: Thursday, July 24, 2014

Topic of this poem: seasons


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