January
Something about January
Broods my blood to slush.
A new year's unknowns
Hearkens hope to hush.
It's a dark visage that stuns,
Heritage of Januarys past.
Death calls my loved ones
With winter's harshest blast.
It seems we're trying to cope
By saying "Happy New Year!"
Yet one must toast the hope
That a wish can fight a fear.
But I think—I'm sure I'm right
The Reaper so deathly scary
Will call me an ice-enameled night
In the cold heart of January.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2014
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