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Minnesota

  • Joanne Benedetto
  • Jan 25
  • 1 min read

 

I’m done in by the snow,

The blistery

reality

of thirty-five below.

 

In frigid cold I burn,

My fingers lost

to arctic frost,

My toes are a concern,

 

When in the biting wind,

The bus is late,

Passengers wait,

Shuddering in their skin.

 

And, oh, the frosty breath

Upon their lips,

When a cloud, whips

The sun to sudden death.

 

Be careful, watch for ice!

They laid rock-salt

On the asphalt,

But I have fallen twice! 

I’m done in by the snow,

The blistery

reality

of thirty-five below.

 

In frigid cold I burn,

My fingers lost

to arctic frost,

My toes are a concern,

 

When in the biting wind,

The bus is late,

Passengers wait,

Shuddering in their skin.

 

And, oh, the frosty breath

Upon their lips,

When a cloud, whips

The sun to sudden death.

 

Be careful, watch for ice!

They laid rock-salt

On the asphalt,

But I have fallen twice!

 
 
 

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