of Woolly Hat
With or without the bobble. No
patch of bald head left exposed.
Down tight to the eyebrows, my ears
up-dunked in tea-cosiness.
Wind, thou art mere wind: I, monarch,
emperor of the noon dreich,
proudly triumphant, my warm loaf
crowned in hand-spun sheepy gold.
If you have any comments on this poem, Seth Crook would
be pleased to hear from you.