The winter's darkness reaches us again,
Announced by daylight's grey and evening's pitch.
Formation flocks of fleeing geese and wrens,
Abscond to kinder climes, still lush and rich.
The cool seeps into corners, where it rests,
And chills the pockets in which summer hides.
All clinging greenery that still protests,
Is slowly overcome by frost and dies.
The days are short as if the sun itself,
Shall seek to nestle 'neath the skyline's brink.
The creatures scurry with alerted stealth,
To hoard their stores by cunning and instinct.
And so, we too must gather and prepare.
The light of spring is lost and far away.
For months to come, our breaths adorn the air,
As we recall the warmth of gentler days.
