Observations On Winter. Poem by Peter Vealey

White ringed shoes, scuffed n' broken.
Telephone farces.
Find five pence, lose fifteen on,
A crossed line.
Winter's easterly wind,
Will take its toll by January.
On old folk, feet, and hands.
On animals alike.
And another year,
Is only a twelve-month forgotten lesson,
Of how cruel she can be.
Slithering n' sliding.
Like a baby on first steps.
Red noses, pale faces.
Are always the same,
This time of year.
Full of cold n' woe.
Snowballs n' Christmases,
Come and soon pass.
Melted by memories dream of reality.
Of faces grey n' aglow.
While nothing's ever learned,
Only that on the roundabouts,
You swing,
While on the swings (of life) ,
You lose to gain a loss.
Cliches and cliches.
And never a good old buddy insight.
To chew the cud,
To relive the stud.
Shake n' clear off the mud.
Of indifferent lives n' years.
Observations of winter.
Indoor stubble, damp washing muddle.
See your air pollute the sky.
Lose your nerve of chasing romance
And pure, pure love.