The Thrill Of The Chill Poem by Brian Stafford

Running through the streets,
without any clothes to wear;
The thrill of the chill,
in the middle of the night;

The breeze on the skin,
Stones underfoot,
Curtains shut tight,
In the dead of the night;

Stepping into a doorway,
on Quebec Street;
A car approaches,
but goes the other way;

Just one more street light,
One more corner,
Really just a dream,
Or a dream that's real;

Running through the streets,
without a stitch to wear;
The chill of the thrill,
in the dark, dark night.