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It was cold outside, Five degrees below they said, But wind chill factor Rimmed my eyes to red, My face, a stretched tight mask, My scalp, a vice that grips my head. Strange to think That Scott and Bird, Although they felt this blast, Had never heard Of wind chill factor. However, Bursting through my white front door Three strides to reach ignition switch On dull gold fire standing mute, Sharp explosion makes dead cats twitch And slowly come to life, Leave central heated silk covered chair And stretch their way To covering of brown goats hair. Round they walk, Round and round, Three times it seems the corkscrew move These prehistoric circles prove That all is safe upon the ground, And so it is, As felines flop to sighing sound, And flex their claws, as bodies arch In writhing exotic ecstasy. My naked feet, Once ice blocks, golden glow, And silky stretch between cat and goat. My eyes slow close, And ears perceive the rumbling throat, Whilst beyond the glass, beyond the wall, The petals of snow silent fall. |