Looking down into the heart of the frigid winter

Hoping to find maybe some kind of hint there

Why so many find the starkness of winter dead

Perhaps it’s the quietness they hold in dread?

The chill can ache deep inside our tired bones

Or, maybe it’s the feeling that you’re all alone?

So many, too many, poets focus on the bleakness

As though it’s compulsory, this morbid weakness

As a natural born child of winter, I wonder in dismay

Have these poets never listened while the children play?

In admission, sometimes winter can last too long

But, that’s all the more reason to join in song

As Dickens’ alabaster wool falls down this winter’s night

I wonder how wiser men than me followed that winter’s light