The ice makes an evil clicking
on the window panes.
The cat, no longer prowling,
is curled up at my feet.
The Night itself seems to beg
to get in out of the storm.
I sip my whiskey and wait
for the electrical grid to fail.
Syd Weedon
2/6/2023
The ice makes an evil clicking
on the window panes.
The cat, no longer prowling,
is curled up at my feet.
The Night itself seems to beg
to get in out of the storm.
I sip my whiskey and wait
for the electrical grid to fail.
Syd Weedon
2/6/2023