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written by: Jack Wolfe Frost



It’s February and the North winds still blow,
And ministering in its mind doth grow,
To Faraway places that leak like a roof,
And beckon to those whose look is aloof.

Mere chance they do ask and whittle the wood,
To see who will come and draw the first blood,
While women do weep,
And people are sheep.

Wolves enter in and start eating the sheep,
And the people will cry why not me ye do keep,
So follow me Flanders to the ice and the cave,
We’ll finish forever with one mighty rave.

Doth God look down and withdraw his great gaze?
While fiddlers they play and dance upon graves,
The moral you see if you look you will find,
It’s not there in February but all in the mind.

Jack Wolfe Frost

Jack Wolfe Frost

Jack Wolfe Frost is the Eternal Rebel; he rebels against everything which may have the word “rules” or “behave” within it, whether explicit or implicit. Born in Sheffield, UK, in 1956; he first started writing in 1982, as a hobby--dreaming that perhaps one day he might try and publish something. In his working life, he has enjoyed success in many diverse areas, including running his own company twice. Now older and wiser, he has once again taken pen to paper--looking for conformity to smash and rules to break…
Jack Wolfe Frost

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