Oh winter's weary head doth hang,
Amid Fall's fiery summer tang
Of crackling leaves and low down myth,
It comes to tarry where I sit.
It bangs it's head against my heart,
Icy coldness it imparts.
Imploring me to come inside,
The shallow kingdom where it hides.
Oh winter where art warmth for thee?
Wilt thou always scatter seeds,
Of discontent amid the life,
Of Summer's softened lullaby.
Oh deadened winter, do not weep,
Cry no icy tears for me.
Lick your lips in silent plea,
But cry no teardrops just for me.
For when I hang my weary head,
It will not be in winter, dead.
I will not tarry here for you,
Find me in sunshine all year through.
Denise Lanford (written for the "Dead Winter" contest)
Copyright © Pokey Lanford