Ascending creaky steps
A mouse with sticky fur
Bites a bit of wind that
Starts her nose to shiver,
Whiskers frown in
This sanctuary, so stale-
A result of age and time
But certainly not neglect
Before snow even thinks
About turning into rain
She scatters seeds
Across splintered floorboards
They are small invitations
In hopes of; “Love
And warmth.” On her door:
“Welcome Friends and Sprouting”
She believes, as mice do
That the winter won’t
Descend upon the sanctuary
And leave her cold another year.
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