Winter Wind

Winter gusting round my ears,

Stinging eyes expressing tears,

Nose is somewhere, who knows where?

Numb and number, should I care?

"I suppose I should," I pause to think.

How ever will I sense a stink?

But more important after all,

Is not to let my glasses fall!

Poised upon my rimey ears,

All clouded up by wind-swept tears,

They bridge the gap upon my face,

Where my nose once had its place.

© Scott Carlton, 1998

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