A dim cold show of watery sun,
With clouds shadowed across the sky.
It’s midwinter’s sombre artistry,
In the cold heart of July.
Pale aspects of naked trees,
With cheery birdsong lesser now,
With nature’s pallet turning grey,
This being all that she’ll allow.
–
With many creatures gone and hiding
Wisely in there hibernation.
Deserted beaches, empty streets,
Few tourists seen here on vacation.
–
Whistling winds and a dimming sky,
Feel the mercurial mood it makes.
With sudden gusts that bring a chill.
It’s the path that winter takes.
–
But cosy in a writer’s cloister,
The wintery scene is held at bay.
A snug shelter with a flow of prose,
A comfy sanctum, come what may.
–
The season puts the world on hold,
A sense of promise it awakes.
It’s the lull that has to be.
It’s the path that winter takes.