If once the Winter King had
fur-lined robes.
Thick gloves, warm boots, they are
long gone.
His clothes are rags and thin to
transparency
When I was a boy I would see him
sometimes
Joining the used up men who would
gather
Around oil drum trash fires,
flaring high
They’d shuffle aside and make
space for him
As should not courtiers for their
king?.
No comments:
Post a Comment