Winter
Now that the summer has gone
We now walk amidst colours of gold
Through fields of anticipation
The prospect of imminent cold
With thoughts of burning peat fires
We crunch leaves as we walk
The chill is getting to us now
So we hasten as we talk
We walk heads bent against the wind
Hands snugly in the pockets
Collar turned to keep out the cold
Eyes watering in their sockets
Home is where we want to be
Out of the icy blast
But needs necessitate to be outside
Where the Antarctic spell is cast
The stacked corn awaits collection
Gulls ride the chilled waters
Dark clouds fill the sky
But the black swan falters
The wintry tempest plays its hand
Cattle shelter from its might
Barometer is falling fast
It’s going to be a bad night
Copyright © Steve Eaton | Year Posted 2017
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