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Winter's Slate MAG
Winter comes coldly and crudely as coarse as it is.
Critters scurry for cover from foreboding frost
in burrows beneath broken roots.
Vibrant colors bleached a blank, blinding white;
White which winter wished for.
Furry tufts fall following snow.
It too covers the ground, giving great warmth.
Winter is death, darkly draining the life.
Yet one awaits with bated breath to breathe
the frozen air.
For only once a year do we wistfully wait,
for winter to wipe the slate.
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This article has 1 comment.
Winter is cold. I'm not sure what else to say about this.