By Kate, age 19, New Hampshire
Sweet Designs Staff Intern
Sweet Designs Featured Writer
and the wind blows and rustles through the trees
whose branches are naked to the cold air
and sag towards the earth from icicles.
And I feel as cold as the poor old trees
walking against the weight of the cold wind
that chills my skin and bones, piercing my soul,
causing my arm hairs to stand up erect.
So I cover myself in a jacket
pulling the zipper up, up to my neck
and place a hat on top of my cold head
and mittens cradle my cold fingertips.
No longer does the cold wind freeze my bones
as I am properly winter prepared.