by Jon Coe

Created on: June 10, 2008

Darkness calls, to those that stand
chilling fingers, from winter's hand
Prying deep, day's short and steep
breath of blackness, slowly creep

Tree tops bare, the lonely stare
the sky is crisp, ground is rare
Coldness enters in, within
sun, letting shadows thin

Crows will crow, with berries sloe
owls they hoot, amongst mistletoe
Paw prints, freezing friends in snow
moon refracts, in pond life flow

Icy screams, from shallow dreams
windy chatter, darkened themes
Huddled snug, between the sheets
warm and safe, this haven greets

Fluffy flakes of spiraling ice
snipping, chipping, once or thrice
Building up, in window's frame
watery nails, inside the brain

When winter ebbs, and time will tell
the seasons of this earth, do gel
This darkness, from where we wing
will welcome life, in time of spring

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