Dressed In My Winter Clothes
By John Herlihy


When I walk idly through the city streets,
When my heart falters and skips a few beats,
When I groan throughout my working day,
When I sigh when things don’t go my way,
When I wake up into the chill of a cold, cloudy sky,
When I lay myself down to sleep as though to die,
When frustration seems to be my only friend,
When despair peeks over the horizon signaling the end,
When a love lost is a love never to experience again,
When my hopes and dreams only flow down the drain.

I am happily decked out in my winter clothes like Joe Blow,
I am suitably dressed for the occasion like a farmyard scarecrow.

Questions about time that drive some to the brink,
To the brink of misery where they find comfort in drink.
Why do some always feel dressed in their winter clothes,
Expecting more disaster that only the devil could propose,
Waiting upon the North Wind as their toes gently freeze,
Only to find that it brushes their face as a gentle breeze.
Will there be another villain lurking around the next corner,
To hold me for ransom like some out-of-town foreigner?
Will there be another disaster to overtake me on life’s highway,
Picking me up, then throwing me down, as I mumble again why?

Before I sleep I take one last look at my winter clothes,
Laid out for the morning in the room’s nighttime shadows.