Ernestine Northover

Veteran Poet - 1,553 Points (25th March 1943)

Frosted - Poem by Ernestine Northover

Cold hands, warm heart, they say,
And yet, how the cold winds chill my heart today.
Creeping within my warmly wrapped attire,
Not caring how or when they quench the fire
Contained therein. Now the body's frosted to the bone,
And to shivers prone, and hands are still so cold.
Where are warm gloves sold?

© Ernestine Northover

Comments about Frosted by Ernestine Northover

  • Andrew Blakemore (4/16/2008 1:45:00 PM)

    A touching poem Ernestine, knit your own I say! Andrew x (Report) Reply

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  • (5/22/2006 3:02:00 PM)

    What a melifluous piece of music. Susie xxx. (Report) Reply

  • (5/22/2006 2:08:00 PM)

    This is like a fine hand to heart, what a wealth of talent in such a fine lady (Report) Reply

  • (5/22/2006 1:06:00 PM)

    My hands are always cold! A nicely crafted piece that flows really well Ernestine. Warmest wishes, Justine. (Report) Reply

  • (5/22/2006 12:13:00 PM)

    It is very good, the way you have crafted a poem around a well-known saying. (Report) Reply

  • (5/22/2006 12:04:00 PM)

    Is a warm heart worth the cold hands? I am so cold-natured that I think not! (Report) Reply

Read all 6 comments »

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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 22, 2006

Poem Edited: Sunday, January 6, 2008

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