A poem.
_______________
Rail against the window
The clear December rain
And trickle down the sash and brick
The dirt along the lane
It swirls and whirls in whorls it rolls
It swishes trash across the molds
The grit and soot
Around the foot
Of sodden man there as he strolls
With pipe in hand
And rubber band
Around his wrist near pipe smoke strand
A briar bowl
With match he stole
Enflames this leaf, his favorite brand
His blue eyes close
He scrapes his nose
In wet wool socks he thinks some prose
The smoke and rain
Decembers gain
The poultice for late Augusts throes
