The Mark of the Storm

(To Old Man Winter) Limbs stripped and bent Standing alone on frozen waters The mark of the storm The wind chilling bones of stone cold ice Ripping through bleached Autumn’s hair That once was considered green The mark of the storm is upon me Yet, my inner soul remains quiet and calm My coat of fir shall keep me warm. Here, I shall wait for the rejuvenation Of my beloved Spring. Until, then I wear the mark of the storm.