I am rap, tap, tapping at your door
in the icy cold lee from the wind
The icicles slip, drip, dripping from my nose
as I wait for you to let me in.
The stair so snow, snow, snowy around my ankles
as a shiver starts up my ill-covered spine.
I keep on rap, tap, tapping on the door frame
praying that forgiveness will rend the door open in time.
I dare not yell, tell, swell my sad story
as to why I quake without coat in the cold.
Rather beg, plead, coerce with remorsefulness,
but the light clicks out in a statement far too bold.
Just a bit of cold, bold poetic fiction for the Magpie prompt this week.