Summers sudden sun is shattered
All and sundry’s forced to listen
To the winter cymbal clatter
Hill and valleys crack and glisten.
Casting coldness from it’s cauldron
Winter’s witchy wand is waved
Not a new spell but an old one
Only water knows it’s age.
Whipping wind is now a weapon
Slashing through the lowly laughter
Bruising with a blowy beckon
Chilling bones that follow after.
The tree was bare
And dreamt of leaves
The bear was left; unaware
Succumbed to hibernation’s squeeze.
poorman'sdreams 