Is, Glass To Me, In The Pain, It Flecks It's Payne Poem by James McLain
Is, Glass To Me, In The Pain, It Flecks It's Payne
I stand, alone in the wind, berift, tired
and cold.
The window glazed from ice, grand
image, even grander.
My pockets long to warm my hands.
I stand looking at my dream, of that
woman i want when i leave here.
She is always perfect, well dressed
i think she is a good mother, never do
i see a scowl, frown, she is always here.
A warm mug of milk and i will be found
come morning under her skirt, asleep.
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4/23/2024 3:05:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Very nice, well written piece.