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