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Winter’s cold came far too quick,
It cuts in much too deep.
The snow blows in, it falls too thick
Its weight strays into sleep.
The freezing air, the misted breath,
The hands that tremble so.
Your warmth shall herald Winter’s death,
And bury him below.
The wind it howls, the snow comes thicker,
The birds, they hide in shame.
But still I wait and feel no flicker
From candle or from flame.
The nights draw in, their darkness lingers
Far into the day,
And creeping closer, twisted fingers
Tear at things to say.
Things once said and once confessed,
They’re nothing now.
Just sounds.
Just breath.
A vacuum forms in the space between us
And staves off Winter’s death.
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