Poor Man Poem by Alistair Graham

Oh winter, dear winter
what have you done
He slipped on the pavement
smashed brittle bone

Oh winter, dear winter
what will you do
Will you freeze his house pipes
will you thaw and burst too

Will you freeze his bones
while he lies in bed
In two thousand and ten
he was almost dead

He was seventy years old
Belfast was thirteen below
He stared at the gas fire
imagined the glow, though

he didn't dare,
switch it on