Poem - Winter's Belfast morning

Without a spick or speck of rain,
the sun shines through the bitter cold;
no snowflake, hailstorm, cloud in sight
but frost and temperatures are down.

And down south is a different land -
the currency and language alter
from our part of town; as if to say
they are not like us. Well I'll disagree
myself for, even though we differ,
we are stubborn and could do with
moving on across the bridge and not
fall through the icy water.

Without a sighting of a storm,
the ice melts with the sunrise coming
up above what's horrible and lifeless
but the temperature's still down.

The city has advanced somewhat;
in many ways, its changed a lot
from years ago, when flying stones
could more than likely break my bones.
Like the ice before me, melting further
into waters still that circulate the Lough,
under the Lagan river. Memories still
cause a quiver.

Frosty fog leave months and spread
into the air, never to be seen again;
like the ice today attached to all
the runaway from yesterday.