Whimsy

Chilly winter mornings have an intoxicating character,
They sweep in through the holes,
The parts you couldn't hide,
And against your will bind you in their charm.

Perhaps it is the wavy fog,
Descending as if from the nostrils of an iced monster,
Peering at our land, our miserable little lives,
Uncomprehending the indecipherable fragility of human time.

The sun blasts away inevitably,
The monster's simple curiosity,
But not for long, its got more babes you see.
Ice man picks on the earthlings again,
Only trying to decipher the fragility of man,
To him the heavens are empty fields,
And temperature a sense of being,
Poor humans; how will they understand,
Living their tiny lives, blossoming insanity through time.
The monster's curiosity melting it steps over to another toy,
And let's the sun help in completing the short lived existence.