Short Days of Winter Solstice
A still covers the ground with a frigid blast
From the skies the snow does cast
Shinny flickering frozen dew
Blanketing the trees with a silvery hue
All is in a hush
But the wind does brush
The last surviving brown trims of grass
As thou they were holding on for dear life
Cutting through them like a knife
And the land shall sleep
Deep, through the night
Until the morning light
Morning shadows create shapes
That last for hours, then escapes
The sun shifts without delay
Bringing us to the end of the day
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