This piece is part of my 2016–2026 archive migration. Some original formatting, content, and external links may be missing, changed, or not be optimized.
Poetry | 16 Lines
My feet grow cold
January snow
—
My tea pot sings
My imagination has wings
—
A warm cup of ginger
Is all I remember
—
An incense blows
While my mind grows
—
I wrap my legs
Around the pegs
—
The chair is my friend
I sit and enjoy the wind
—
A shower at night
To get it right
—
Turn off the light
And rest for the night
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