Winter Woes
Winter is cold
It's hoar-frost so white
And numb are my toes
In the still of the night.
Languid and listless
Does my yellow moon rise,
Prying through windows
Embroidered with ice.
The maple is barren
Her charges long gone
And dull are my mornings
Without a bird's song.
Sluggish my footsteps
And exceedingly cool,
Are my prospects of wakening
The dead at the school.
Dear Father of mercies
Forgive my sad tune.
Could you miss out a season
And start with next June?
idris rees hughes.