The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.
......
THE wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
I made that vow,
Swore that two lives should be like one
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
......
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
......
The smell of incense was heavy
And guarded the dingy room well.
Time passed slowly like the stifling breath of Yuletide
They were hiding from — the two lovers of Venice —
A woman with dark, luxuriant hair
And a man with a running nose.
Scent-leaf from Africa
Roasted over the fireplace with a tangible fragrance.
A lone candle burned and crackled,
Its tallow dripping profusely with crusts of romance —
......
Fear no more the heat o' the sun;
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.
Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
......
In the heart of winter, I stand,
Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.
The snow blankets the earth,
Each flake a delicate touch,
Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.
The trees are skeletal fingers,
Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,
Their limbs bare, stripped of life,
Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.
......
Winter wraps us in her cold embrace,
Icy chills whipping across our face.
Leafless bough; a muddy place,
Winter is showing us; her harsh face.
Looing out from atop Pinnacle Hill,
Church Spires wrapped in a misty chill,
Bredon in the distance; cold and still,
Winter is settling down on every hill.
......
A winter footprint in prime
I wasn't looking for the love of crime.
A well meaning will, mended
by spoken cloth.
Reluctant snow bought
pressure for me to bow
weathered eyes beneath my brow.
Sheltered but warns a busy storm
an unlikely norm.
Soon delightful words to corn.
......
In winter's shroud, the moon arises, a sage,
Clad in robes of frost, her visage grave and pale.
She wanders 'mongst the sleeping, barren age,
A silent sentry in the velvet veil.
Her gaze, a shepherd's crook, guides weary souls,
Through nights of ice and desolation's hold.
Beneath her lantern, fields of snow unroll,
Where silence whispers tales of ancient scrolls.
......
Upon the earth, a soft and silent shroud,
The first snowfall whispers secrets untold,
Each flake a dream, in silver light endowed,
As nature dons her gown of purest gold.
In quiet awe, the world begins to pause,
The air, a crisp embrace, so fresh and bright,
While laughter dances, children's joyful cause,
Their footprints weave a tale in gleaming white.
......