Our house is warm,
and yet I sit and shiver.
Winter's white bear, awake and hungry,
haunts my frosty windows,
seeking to force its gelid immensity
through mouse holes and settlement cracks.
It stalks me, its insatiable hunger
shining through its icy, white eyes.
I sense a gaunt greed,
through my wool and my fleece.
Then a golden dagger pierces my frosty panes,
stabbing the empty, frozen lust,
and chasing the frosty beast into nearby shadows.
Outclassed and over-matched,
by golden beams of the Winter Star;
the ravenous craving for warmth retreats.
My frigid fear runs away,
through the brilliant Summer fields in my mind.
Touched by the mellow fire of a honeyed blade,
my shivers subside,
and I take one perfect breath,
before a great, gray spoiler
shields the Winter warrior from view;
leaving me with a sunny memory,
and a gentle smile.
Mick McKellar
April 2016
The touch of Winter sun is a welcome interlude, that too seldom visits.
Mick
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