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Winter is strumming its icy
fingers,
While he considers our marigold to linger.
He must be filled with dark lascivious need,
For soon their tender petals are his greed.
Those dark umber blue skies their background,
Give them an extra bright attention found.
If I were able to slap away his bloated grey winds,
To let colors of autumn remain as friends,
Away from these times we see ahead,
Brown and withered they will be instead.
All to remain will be our anger and need for revenge,
With winter caps, warm fires, cozy and warm grins.
Swing our sword through the cold months,
Hunter we become and find him once.
Where we will be joined in battle by light and airy force,
Win we will for spring is our companion, of course. |
