'Untitled' Poem by Thomas Adams

Those very stares begin at dawn and winter has a hold.
I frown the gust across the lawn, not bundled for the cold.
The passive change I might subject is subtle say the least.
For saving me has churned awhile by mother and her priest.
To see this world but black and white would frighten me a bit.
I'd frolic round more aimlessly and have no time to sit.
I fear to add some color here might bind me in the cost.
Until the day togetherness would cure my being lost.