Poetry

In this cold winter
the evening wind cuts merciless
right through clothes
and in the early morning
ripe lies like fallen snow
and covers the lawn
and every flower bud
 
but still the doves coo
their song of romance,
still a flock of wavers and sparrows
twitter their thanks
as they peck on bread crumbs and seeds
 
and your hand is hot in mine
and together our bed
is a cosy and lovely place.