January

With numbing cold, biting at my brittle bones
I feel many years giving me a wake up shake
Gripping my coat through the more gripping cold
I feel the world has grown old.

January I cried for my Mom the first time
She probably cried and then smiled for my tears
She surely is yet smiling for my thoughts through these years

For the tears that she shed were at giving me birth
January is the warmest time on earth

poem by John Shea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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