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The chilling wind invades my coats defenses,

slipping between the narrow passages of clothing.

Goosebumps dancing atop my exposed skin,

reminding me how the cold, leaves me loathing

Jack Frost is a sneaky bastard of sorts,

sitting on the top of his crystal ice palace.

Although, he has a job to do each winter,

I believe he does it with contempt and malice.

Finding refuge in my automobile shelter,

turning the key in hopes of finding relief.

The clicking sound coming from the engine,

confirming that the king of ice, is a thief.

Exiting my car, looking under the hood,

immediately noticing a sign of his work.

The battery is leaking water on the ground,

casting suspicion on Jack, the winter jerk.

Awakening from this chilling nightmare,

sitting up in the warmth of my canopy bed.

I look out the window at the falling snow,

wondering what real misfortune, is lying ahead.



Poem by David Andre Davison

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