The Cold of ’92 Winter hits with a bitter hand on this plateau. Slate sky, ominous with snowflakes, thick and wet or icy chips. Dangerous underfoot. It snows again here. While down South, fatigues climb white washed hell to save sheep. Tiny flakes fall on and on. We sit around a fire. Laugh and …
Borrowed
The old hotel stands Broken A quiet country road; calling Telling of autumn southerly That slaps cheeks red Old hotel once with light All hours; and the laughter Beer and peanuts; a sing-a-long To guitar and a TV on mute In the corner Quiet now and the wind At windows trying to get in …