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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNcz5AagtaU

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Short days,

Snow draped:

The woods, across

The lake 

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The sun sets early here, it’s quiet

During the winter

And the daylight seeks to break

For only but a handful

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Of un-hurried, honest hours.

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The sun never sees

The center of the sky, never

Graces past the woodland lips

Of an inhospitable horizon;

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It never reaches

Beyond a latitude

From which it hadn’t

Been born,

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Never seeks beyond the pale

Of an ever-present North.

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And so the windlessly patterned

Unison of

A hovering descent -

Snowfall shivers before the gray

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And wraps the world

A blanket.

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