Poetry that thinks out loud

COLD HANDS

It was Tuesday morning

And snowing once again;

Everything outside was white,

But it was far from plain.

Sights that I was seeing

Were cold hands bearing pain,

Though, they said they'd be alright;

Those children cried again.

Heaters brought no soothing,

But knowledge was their gain;

Crying children within sight

Now know that snow brings pain.