The steely wind which howls its icy blast,
Against the weathered walls of our old house,
Cries havoc in a voice from winters past;
Then whispers like soft footfalls of a mouse.
The sun, a pale white lantern in the sky,
Whose gauzy light relieves the leaden air
But intermittently, and with a sigh,
Tries desperately its faint warmth to share.
As dancing snowflake shadows seek to weave,
A web of tarnished silver colored glow,
A pearly curtain teases it to leave,
Behind a soft cascade of blowing snow.
I’m dreamy with soft sounds and softer sight,
Of winter’s sighs and cries and gentle light.
Winter, bleak and cold, has its own delicate crystalline beauty...at least when it is not too dark to see across the street…