Poet In The Snow

The poet in the snow,

freezing and observing,

Stealing glances at his tanned skin and

Burnt brown hair,

His dry, cracked knuckles that would be

Bloodied if he was allowed to keep them that way.

The poet in the ice,

Cold, confused, and quaint.

A violent gust almost sweeps her off her feet.

The poet in the sleet,

Silently sobbing,

Shuddering, blubbering,

Breaking.