Boots Are Cold And Damp

The soft, hand-made crevices

Of the crisp paper

Floating lightly through

A dark room-

Light creeping through

The tiny hole in the corner.

The old woman yawned

And put the kettle on the stove.

Let's get out, she says

The kettle screaming

In the background.

Hot fire burning

Alongside the tired couch

All tattered and defeated

Years behind it-

Not many more to come.

Sweaters on sweaters

Snowing outside

Let's get out, she says

A dusty picture by her bed

Quilts galore

Pining for comfort

Record spinning on the table.

Let's get out she says

Half way there and never stopping

Here she goes.

Dog by the lamp is barking

She opens the door.

Boots are cold and damp.

Goodb-