Swirls of fog,
encircle my feet,
as I stroll on
this old country street.
Droplets of breath,
exhaled during my walk,
gather on my beard,
while I breath and talk.
Activity like this,
on a cold winter morn,
takes me back
to when I was born.
Swirls of fog,
encircle my feet,
as I stroll on
this old country street.
Droplets of breath,
exhaled during my walk,
gather on my beard,
while I breath and talk.
Activity like this,
on a cold winter morn,
takes me back
to when I was born.