Shakespeare wrote “thy breath be rude,”
but I think thy breath has little attitude.
Dullness, neglect, but not vulgarity—
of emotions you haven’t even slight sincerity.
While your chill betrays some tempered winds,
your stillness renders still their sin.
And while gray clouds wrestle out the sun,
your whiteness once again has won.
When “blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
it’s not you, winter, has made man scowl;
Thy breath is cold, and that’s the end.
We turn to winter, not to friend.
- O/B Store