By Right 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.

Seth Crook

If you have any comments on this poem,  Seth Crook  would be pleased to hear from you.