It’s a frigid -26 Celsius with ice crystals in the air so I thought I would post a winter poem đ
Edward Gates
From: Heart’s Cupboard
the wind beats snow
against my house
threads hang from the coat of a man
filling the cracks in his home
last night a man with black hair
drank beer by the well house
he laughed through a crack in the door
I put more wood on the stove
I am warm leaning back
on the legs of his old chair
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 
Some vivid images in this poem. As I read it I thought of Robert Service’s poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee” where Service writes: …talk of your cold! through the park’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail…” Edward Gates even has a little of the cadence of Service’s poem. Just my observation. Good to read someone new, though!
Stupid autocorrect! It should read, parka’s fold
LOL! Gotta love auto-correct đ Thanks for your comparison to Robert Service. Very interesting!
Love the poem. Stay warm!