There is a savage beauty to the night frost.
The world hardened skin and bone.
Unforgiving to old and young,
its frigid breath shocks mouth and lung.
Mists of ice ghost the black walk by the rivers way,
the homeless and the hidden huddle down in bush and lane
hoarding precious heat.
Only the strangest walk the world on nights like these.
Living on the edges, we pass each other.
Wary aye, for are we not strange?
What bonds us is surviving to the dawn.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016