I stand, alone in the wind, berift, tired
and cold.
The window glazed from ice, grand
image, even grander.
My pockets long to warm my hands.
I stand looking at my dream, of that
woman i want when i leave here.
She is always perfect, well dressed
i think she is a good mother, never do
i see a scowl, frown, she is always here.
A warm mug of milk and i will be found
come morning under her skirt, asleep.
Is It Poetry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/is-glass-to-me-in-the-pain-it-flecks-it-s-payne/
