Bus Stop

"Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses."
__ Alphonse Karr

Waiting for the bus,
Beside a cold, mizzled* road
Dank, dark, winter time.

Moisture makes diamonds
On my hood, crowned with glory
Secret jewels for me.

Penetrating chill
Fingers of frosty wetness
Crawl along my body.

I have my blue scarf
Woven by my witchy friend
Woollen warmth with love.

A hidden monster,
Grumbling warnings, unseen.
Glowing eyes, searching for prey.

The bus stops and waits,
Its maw opens wide enough
To swallow its food.

Inside, it is warm.
People chat, crowded on seats
Glad it's not cancelled.

*Mizzle: a mixture of drizzle and mist
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