fauxcroft

In the grim winter

Even spirits hibernate,

The chill is no thrill

It just agitates,

The sorrow within

It’s hard to placate,

Yet in the depths

Of the frost and dark,

I still spy little sparks,

Of nature scurrying

And flickers of light,

That share a moment

Of pleasurable delight,

And spirits that do dwell

Suffering and who wants

To cause a fright,

While lingering within

The shadows of night,

Can also be frozen

In a desperate winters plight,

Dealt a blow by visceral blights,

I am not a winter man in truth

Where do much in natr dies,

And I prefer springs new shoots

That bring nature back to life,

And my mind then reacts positively

To the new dawn’s light.