by Colin Ward

Created on: December 03, 2008   Last Updated: May 25, 2009

Winters' whip, she blew foul today,
She bit through to the bone,
She licked the flesh upon my frame,
And turned it into stone.

And riding on her tempest mare,
The rain sure did come in,
It spat and snarled, and didn't care,
Whether good, or stoked with sin.

The sun I haven't seen for days,
No warmth has blessed my brow,
The sky a quilt of matching greys,
above a bed so barren now.

In eternity earth lay sodden,
All brown where once was green,
All thought of summer forgotten,
This is the time of in-between.

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