It hangs with an icy grip
on the crisp edges of November,
waiting to drop in
with the howling shrieks
of the North winds fury.
Its chilly glare haunts you
when a frigid breeze,
disrupts the leaves of October.
It longs to bed us down
in white blankets,
a hyper-nation,
a hibernation
of shivering souls,
enslaved in ice castles
as we light burnt offerings
to its vast powers.
But there is
something to be said
for the warm comfort of
two snuggling,
as the world is buried
in a crystallized tomb.
It is a quiet place,
muffled by the frozen
condensation of most noise.
Endless splendor lies untouched,
diamond studded in the
seldom seen, bedazzling sun.
The crunch of four feet,
tempting it's bite,
and two hands sharing fingers
creates the music of love.
Each brittle note thaws
in the souls of those
who find contentment
in Winter's charms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Artis
Gold trophy winner
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