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,
Only a dream!
It's still only spring.
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Comments about this poem (Cold Dreams by Ronald Chapman )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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