Chilled To The Soul Poem by james watkin
Chilled To The Soul
Could this woolly mass
Of garmenture
Wealthiest, ward off too
What blows you through!
That feeling- weather;
Winter's, more wretched.
Self-rejection's own, caught
Through what unsought
For whose autumn change
Of persona
In a man, rushingly
Molested thee.
Thursday, September 17, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: suffering
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12/8/2025 1:44:17 AM # 1.0.0
