Be by yourself,your writing.

Be by  yourself, your  writing.

It is   biting cold, abominably cold,

Chill   creeps into your shrunken

Skin, hanging flesh. It creeps,

For the flesh is loose ,the wrinkles

Give  way helplessly.You fall on your

Flat bed, mind  sails  for   writing,

Though   the  body  is  already

For another  realm   of sleep,

You pull   off  the rug,

Fir  leaves   yonder still  show       

  affinity  to the tree, in winter .

 Tree’s   inherent Nature

to  hold  them steadfast.

Cold  in the silent  space

Booms  large, akin  to  the

ambulance siren. There is

another  cold  tapping in

the  coffin ,the  ICU darkened

by  white sheets. My quirky

pen  outwits  the cold,

and goes  on.