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Donna's Poems
January of Gusty, Wintry,  Days


The nylon wind sock under the arbor,
Speaks to us for the north winds labor.

Chilly, cold, shivering blasts freeze,
The winter sun is as pathetic as a sneeze.

We are not in the least tormented,
And you ask, "Are you demented."

"No," We say, "We simply burrow down,
Bundle up until we look like a clown,

Sip hot soup of peas, green onions, carrots,
Snuggle against stove together and in pairs."


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