Ghosts

I feel them in the winter time,
When life is cold, and time goes slow.

We shiver with cold like a silver dime,
Dropped in the cold,
To a soul floating in time.

With coin in hand,
we look for fortune anew,
But the things that we find are never so blue
as the rush of cold wind when the coinholder seeks you

poem by John Shea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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