Hour 10

The hairs on my arms are standing,

Chill bumps arise,

Chills from my toes to my spine,

I shiver… I shiver,

From my teeth an uncontrollable chatter,

You can hear, I can feel the vibrations,

The brisk wind whistles softly by,

Where has that wind come from,

For I lay in my abode,

Firmly perched over three cushions,

One legged crossing the other,

With a notebook and pen,

Brace for another addition,

I need my blanket.



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