cold iron

Written for:  The Twiglets #116 – “like cold iron”

She lay down next to him;
his arm felt like cold iron.

Sky was a sheet
of cold iron winter
before the storms began.

Winter, for a child,
is frosty fun. One
of our games was
iron tag.

A giant from Cold Mountain City
loved a girl who read him a litany:
You’re too tall, not handsome,
poor, and can’t dance none.
Giant cried and rusted, never trust a girl from Town Without Pity.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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6 Responses to cold iron

  1. Misky says:

    Oooh, cold iron winter. I like that.


  2. Jules says:

    Winter has been a wicked cold iron here.
    Fun limerick too 🙂
    Always a fine variety of verses.


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