A sonnet on an experience I had while braving the windy winter weather of Indiana.
The wind’s icy bite grips my freezing form.
The wind sweeps across the snow stained ground,
Howling heartlessly like a hungry hound.
The life and breath of an oncoming storm.
I have lost feeling in my nine fingers.
The cold's already claimed one of my thumbs.
In light of how little warmth still lingers,
I'll likely lose another, for they’ve gone numb.
Then at long last I stand before South’s side door.
At last I can soak in the heat of my dorm.
Hot coco will coat my throat and restore.
The warmth stolen by the starving storm.
A tear freezes on my cheek as I see
In my pocket, there is no card key.