New York Winter Mornings
New York winter mornings,
bitter, dark, wet.
I trudge through the snow,
my collar turned to the cold and damp.
A lock of hair peeks out of my hat, and dances with the wind,
I shove it back in, and struggle on.
Children play in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other,
laughing, skipping, their cheeks flushed.
I look up at the skyline,
The Empire State Building standing strong,
dark against the grey sky.
I get to my apartment,
stamp the snow from my boots and unlock the door,
hang up my coat.
I look out of the window, the snow is falling again.
Weather report says there's more on the way.
A New York winter morning.