The Bitter Morn Poem by Stuart Logan

A subtle breeze blows here,
Where the early winter morn does bite.
The bitter snows far away,
yet the chill of the arctic still harps.

My eyes water and the frost sits motionless,
And the early morning sun, to no avail,
Casts it's futile heat,
That shall never reach this porch.

The hail of the harsh winter snows,
Are many and few in between.
And so few can ignore it,
And walk ahead sans the sting of the cold.

A subtle breeze blows here,
Where the early winter morn does bite.
The bitter snows far away,
yet the chill of the arctic still harps.