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Your words I am wearing when I feel cold and grey,
The intention a warming result.
My fingers slip into your warm glowing letters
And tis ‘pinged’ to my elbows with a swift catapult.

The strange stories they fit like a 70’s parka,
Within it I am snuggled when in the right mood.
If things get too grim, well I pull up the hood,
And retreat at speed into a big wordy snood.

My feet become clad in a burning bright poem,
It lightens my load as I lace up my woes.
The soles of my sadness become toasty smiles,
As I wriggle my toes in your furbelow prose.