The Cold Poem by Wolf the poet

In this hour not yet told
The weather transisting to cold
Our arms and legs tuck fold
Piling up the pullovers as we blow our hands warm

They say that rain is a blessing
From who no one can fathom
Flowers are yet to bloom
Love is at a distance we must zoom
It is August, a couple's month

Our lips are shrivelled
Words mumbled ain't clear
Our eyes portray nothing but fear
For with the cold strange ordeals creeps near
And mutilates all that we dim dear

I urge folks; young and old
Stay clear of the fog
Indoors we should dwell
Warm by the fireplace till the feet swell
Cuddle with the one you love
Whisper words of relief
And together as one we'd manage the cold