Sink down in the heavy wool coat
and hug it around you. Has holes,
a pocket or two's lost a seam,
but hug it. It's yours, it's all yours.

It's brick if December's sharp fang
can't pierce it, and oak if you wear it
right. It's an eiderdown bed,
a skin for your skin and it's yours.

It's fit for the city, your coat,
and right for the time. Not a soul
could wear it like you, so intent
on having it yours, only yours.

A Summer is coming for you.
You'll yet have a chance to recline
on pillows of grass, but not here.
Today you've the street and a coat.