Winter came not meek nor mild
but with hoare frosted, bellowed breath
that coated all with thin laid ice
sending autumn to her death.
Whilst a waning sun, by summer spent,
rises barely roof ridge high
as armadas of grey galleons
sail 'cross an ever darkening sky.
And fallow fields neath purest white
trees petrified and bare,
are an epitaph to a season lost
and the beauty she did share.
I inward say, " farewell for now,
farewell 'til the birth of spring,
let me slumber deep, silently,
'til once more the songbirds sing"