Fire and warmth, we're all cozy now,
And the quietest of voices can seem too loud.
There's no slow falling, but it's bitter outside,
I guess the weather forecast was more of a guide.
Darkness apparent much earlier than before,
So close all the curtains and close every door.
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Poetry
PoetryRambly poems that I write late at night. I only just realised that rhymed, how ironic. Uploads every Friday
