How soft the sun seeps,
Low slung in winter’s sky;
Creeping cold cradled
As iced blue clouds lie.

The harsh winter wind
Cracks throughout dormant trees,
Rubbing their bosom
Shaking splitting knees.

Stuttering branches
Deftly reach up towards
The slumbering sphere,
Who rolls, ever onwards.

Rough stubbled paddocks -
Exhausted, malnourished;  
Unkemped ploughed furrows
Where harvests once flourished.

Black ice laced roads slip
Silent through countryside;
Polished surfaces
Weaving around tongue-tied.

Darkness filters down
As the sun sinks below;
Clouds bulge full of grey
As it begins to snow.

Oh! Bitter winter,
You pierce me to my core,
Cut through my tight heart
And ease me through this war.

The night is truly
Darkest before the dawn;
The mighty oak tree
Grows from the small acorn.

As I clench fisted carry onwards,
Your cruel bitterness
Makes me suffer more,
And still more;

Yet, I know there is warmth
In store,
As I disappear off into the night
Away from shelter and protective light.