The Cold Creeps Up On Me

It was warm when I sat down,
my puzzled mind mused.
It was warm when I sat down,
and now I’m confused.

It was warm when I sat down,
my foggy mind sighed.
It was warm when I sat down,
and now I’m so tired.

It was cozy and snug here,
protected and warm.
It was cozy and snug here,
my port in the storm.

It was cozy and snug here,
cuddled in with my book.
It was cozy and snug here,
my safe little nook.

Now my fingers feel icy,
my nose-tip is red.
Now my fingers feel icy,
all comfort has fled.

But I didn’t notice
the cold creeping up.
It was cozy and warm here,
but the cold has crept up.

It was warm when I sat down,
it was cozy and snug.
Now my fingers feel icy,
the cold has crept up.


Notes: The inspiration for this poem is quite prosaic – I don’t control the heat in my apartment, and it seems that the person who controls it likes it far chillier at night than I do… So when I sit down to read in the evening, it’s nice and warm. And I don’t notice the temperature dropping until my fingers and nose start feeling chilly. Usually I sigh, turn on the space heater, and maybe pull on an extra sweater. But tonight, as I touched my icy finger to my icy nose, I thought “the cold crept up on me again,” and that sounded like a metaphor for so much else… So I wrote this poem.

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