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Antipostmetasemanticism

<-- None of these thingeys work

Breezes

Feb 151 min read

Breezes blowing through trees is

Like the hoarse course of force or worse

The whitely covered ground we found

Is grabbing down all sound around.

Cold shaking cold, the fingers of freezes,

The tickling and wheezes of hard stone air

That rips through coats and pants like freight trains

Of dashing crashing rains.

Like the horse courts our forts and warts,

The coldly whitened snowball snooze

The covers warm, Oh, let me stay

Inside and out of Winter's way.

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