Cold winds blowing frost on spider's webs. Snowflakes of every shape. Fire on the grate hearing the sound of the storm. Scottish winter's wrath bone chilling. Ice on the windows, having thoughts on the poor homeless souls without shelter.
Michael Cochrane ©
I take my vision to the pathetic situations of poor homeless souls.... the fact!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Even in Canadian winters I think of that too Bravo! Bravo!