Cold

Today is cold, very, very cold.
And all the city is blanketed in ice.
Every minute is quite unheard of for its brittle cold
And I don't know when I shall be warm again.
Well, perhaps this afternoon
When the sun warms the earth and the city's cold hands
Stretch and move in front of the golden hearth
That is our own bright star
And all the birds stop their bickering
And rest upon the lines, only hopping at each other playfully
In the warmth of the light
And all the clouds go by in laziness
Looking down on us elegantly
From the cold that is still above
And, it could be, wishing for a moment
To feel the fire that the warm of our ground would be to them.