Winter, Sir, No Child Hath Its Chains Poem by james watkin

Winter, Sir, No Child Hath Its Chains



Winter, sir, no child hath its chains
Or weighed heart, to conjoin
With days' servitude, gagged and glum.
Death's paleness stiffened in.

A cruel mocking indifference!
With wholesome apples' blush.
Makes light sport of, snowman-making!
More laughingly, sled-slush!

Sunday, March 10, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: childhood ,winter
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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