Nature’s voice blows with a chilling breeze.
It blows with a truth that’s cold.
Through so many stands of leafless trees.
Each year the story’s retold.
–
A dull reflection in the sky.
Carpets of leaves showing black.
While possible storms are always a given,
As warmer weather hangs back.
–
Daylight subdued by winter’s cloak
Beneath a sky that’s grey.
Nature paints on a cold-hearted canvas,
In the pale shadow of day.
–
Birds perch on leafless trees
With their claws fully clasped.
Bare branches dance their miserable rhythm
While feathers ripple against winter’s blast.
Under dark, foreboding clouds we go,
Breathing the crispness of frosty air.
Often unwilling, with blood ever chilling;
Donning winter wear.
–
Faces whipped with a wind that stings,
With a liquid coldness in eyes and nose.
A creeping numbing of the bones.
Cheeks with a growing flush that shows.
–
It’s a cold too close for comfort,
When nature’s voice comes on a chilling breeze,
With veins that throb with blood that’s chilled,
And all nature’s progress seems to freeze,
With so many stands of leafless trees.