The numbing kiss of an icy wind,
has the blood in my face pinned,
The glare of the sun brings some respite,
as I Walk onwards with all my might.
Past the trees stripped by the seasons,
along the rows of unlit beacons.
By the Canal once filled to the brim,
on which the capitals ducks did swim.
Yet winters bite does not bring despair,
not like an eight thirty class, I swear.
For the cold washes away my sleep,
and against the sky shines St. Johns keep.
How do you sulk on a walk alone?
enveloped in cold and thoughts your own.
A short relief from the endless race,
a path to central heating’s warm embrace.
