By Wesley Hague

Winter’s here, its cold embrace
land and sky, hands and face.
Snowy plains, and icy fields
frigid winds that they yield.

Winter’s here, it’s lonely song
piercing winds, echo’s along
Listen now, past the winds moan
even the trees now, creak and groan.

Darkness comes, without a sound
Not even light to heat the ground.
Yet as the night fades to day,
This winter, will eventually go away.