I was out in all the weathers the other day, and this is the poem I wrote whilst the rain seeped into my head, and the cold infiltrated my body, blowing the cobwebs away.
My ears are cold,
my body old,
but, my heart is bold.
My limbs no longer tend to fold,
and my grip, on reality, has less of a hold;
my mind has veins
of purest gold;
but my groin… has mould,
which can be fatal,
or so I’m told.
