Steve Mount

Cold, the snow falls, lightly drifting
Down from the grey sky
Covering the earth, the cars, the grass
Laying down a soft sheet
Draping everything in a peaceful white.

Cold, the man shivers in a box
Looking up woefully at the snow
Tiny flakes, each as insignificant as he
His feet stick out into the open, exposed
Slowly draped in a peaceful white.

Lightly drifting in and out of sleep
He says a silent prayer and gazes
At an empty bottle
He feels heat seep from his body
His hair draped in peaceful white.

Cold and shivering, he rests his head
Against the brick of his alley way
Closes his eyes and hopes to wake up
And hopes not to wake up
As he is draped in peaceful white.

This poem was written for a poetry group, in August, 2000. The idea for the poem was Cold.

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Last Modified: 16 Aug 2000

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