Winter Blues

The wailing winter wind that blows a gale

Sweeps like a brittle brush scouring the land,

Rendering the autumn forests frail

And anything else that comes at hand. 

At the helm is Jack Frost, fearless and brave,

Advancing behind him a force of snow and hail;

Some of the elderly will come nearer to their grave –

Soon to be just a photograph, a memory, a tale. 

Outside the window there’s a tap,

Old Jack is back.

England groans at that familiar sound

And falls down on her knees. 

Like a light which takes away the dark,

What we knew before has now grown stark,

Good on the eye but cold on the feet –

Autumn’s goodbye as winter we meet. 

Tap, tap, tap –

Old Jack is back.

© Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017

 

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.