Winter
I drape your darkened night in sheets of white,
Making you shiver under my dense flakes;
To hide your blighted roots from mortal sight,
I pour my drifting crystals in your lakes—
Your whispered warmth in return is all it takes.
The wind I fashion blows with silent chill;
I bury all your tender skin in wool.
Your fun, I shift beside the fireside’s thrill—
Warm drinks I set by your warm hands to pull,
Though I creep cold-footed, still my smile is full.
I hide the tilling of your soil beneath coldness,
And blight in the seeds of your barn I heal,
So that your planting season stands clothed in boldness—
A whispered promise I set beneath your heel,
While from the sky thick drifting flakes I steal.
My mission finished, then I give you way,
For grace in me to meet the gentle sun,
Who dries the sweat concealed in warmer day
And widens paths for open-fielded fun—
But not until my quiet work is done.
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