When a blizzard falls,
sometimes the mirror shatters.
The sounds that blow down
your streets, become as
bleak as the Manchester Moors.
It’s all I can do to lift my eyelids.
But I walk from wall to wall.
Ugly feet, walking over the floor.
Until, I find you by a window-
as the spring rain falls.
Where would the earth be,
without you and me.
A Wandering Poet 