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A Death of Cold

by Dave Fitzgerald

Bleak, miserable hillside.

Icy, skin-stripping, horizontal rain

causing pain to every joint and extremity

in this, this most extreme inclemency.

Darkness fades to blackness,

cold fades to comforting warmth,

and the pain subsides.

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5!)

Once I caught a fish alive?

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5!)

OK, you’ve just done that bit!

(1, 2, 3, 4, 5!)

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…?


Bleak, miserable hillside.

I’m not coming here again.


Author's Note: Dying of hypothermia can creep up on you.

Posted on 05/25/2006
Copyright © 2024 Dave Fitzgerald

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Heide McAlister-Bates on 05/28/06 at 12:04 PM

Ah, an ode to British summertime... I'm liking this one, mate. Fab write.

Posted by Anne Boulender on 05/28/06 at 12:10 PM

you know, i was reading this and when i saw the numbers, i sort of thought it would be interesting if someone did a calculus problem or something in a poem.

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