Solstice Ploy

It’s cold beneath the fallen leaves the worms slow wriggle falls to sleep the tartan now a yellowed sash consumed by winter’s icy creep the rustle in the leaves just wind as squirrels wrap their tails around cold noses and an acorn stash beneath a hawks now distant sound Oh snow, cold snow, your carpet white reflects the sun’s now timid stance the darkness of your glaring light the sharpened point of Winter’s lance thus, do we wait on Solstice ploy thus, do we hold to season’s joy