The Chill 


I feel a chill come cross the land.

Summer's long gone.

Winter's at hand.


It seeps in from the North,

Like water through a crack,

And kills the plants while they sleep,

'Til there's no coming back.


It gets down deep in my bones,

And chills me to the core.

No matter how I cover up,

The chill claims more and more.


It slowly saps my lifeblood,

And takes me to my knees.

Until I long for a tropical night,

With a warm onshore breeze.


But then I wake up,

From that warm dream.

And feel the cold knife down my back,

With fingers so sharp and mean.


That I wish I were in a tropical clime.

Spending my days so sublime,

Living life filled with thrill,

And never again, feel the chill.


Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull




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