Chilled Fingers (11.16.12)

Fingers chilled to the bone,
Here it seems to seep in,
Creeping in.

The doors are unlocked,
But why do I stand outside?
The doors are open,
But why do I stay outside?
In the biting cold?
Out here in the biting cold?

The people,
Their eyes are far away,
Though their bodies are near.
We go through this life
With the countless nameless faces
Most of whom we’ll never really know or understand
But, bless me, I know I always have a helping hand.

I sit out here with my only company,
An old oak tree
Who seems to have the time for me.
Oh, oak tree, can I tell you my heart?
For the people don’t seem to understand.
Oh, oak tree, can I whisper to you
the magic I see in your leaves,
the clouds, and the skies?
When I sit with you,
my heart needs no disguise.

The doors are unlocked,
But why do I stand outside?
The doors are open,
But why do I stay outside?
In the biting cold?
Out here in the biting cold?

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