because it demands attention,
rattling the old windows
panes loosened by years of this shaking,
so lonely it wants to be let in
to curl up by the fire
while someone who loves it
cooks oatmeal at the stove
and serves it in Winter’s favorite blue bowl.
Winter, of course, knows this will never happen
which makes it rattle the windows harder.
And this is why it steals your breath,
why it freezes your hands,
determined to take the warmth
the warmth you won’t give freely.
The legend says if ever one person
gave the Cold a kiss, a willing hug,
it would calm down, stop this bluster
and be June-like in its joy.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 