A Cold Wind

Letters for - 'r'Ed

A cold wind whirls and gusts
around the corners

of the house,

seeps and whispers

through the cracks,

chills the bone.

April has turned cold and cruel . . .

and you, you are angry,

I can tell.

Perhaps,

-- opposed to all the rumor --

you have no taste

for art?

Or is it just my poems

that are offensive?

This April day assumes your face,
as the wind whispers,

and chills the bone.

VCAM
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