by Curtis Sethaler
The window is open a touch too far
The cold, cold air whipping in is too much for me.
My feet are falling victim to the cold cold draft.
If only I were smaller I would fit under my blanket..
What good would I be.
As it is and I am, My feet stick out.
The light coming through the curtain is yellow.
Allowing just enough in to faintly light the room.
The door is silently rocking in the breeze,
It lacks the ominous screech to frighten.
I watch its gentle motion until,
I drift away...
Posted on 07/10/2011
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