Bookends

“BOOKENDS” – by Ray Fowler

On frosty winter mornings when I rise
And venture forth to meet the still-born dawn,
The prickly air pokes sharply at the flesh
And sweeps the dust of slumber from my eyes.

When winter falls with force upon my home
And icy fists rap sharp on window panes,
I draw my blanket snug about my heart
And let the warmth of sleep invade my bones.