WINTERTIME
Winter always seems to be the poor relation
Unlike Spring, embraced as a cute newborn
Or summer, a smiling and sunny adolescent
Especially autumn, in its respected maturity
A comforting hand on end of year security
Yet winter is cold as a pale moon’s crescent
Looking silently down on us, and all forlorn
Is there no room left for a new imagination
Yet winter could even be the ice in a drink
To make every snowman, fluffy white snow
Kid’s rosy cheeks, as they slide down slopes
Perhaps there’s a message in the chill breeze
In snowflakes’ beauty or when icicles freeze
But now, the other seasons know the ropes
All key elements of the regular yearly flow
They are but a prelude, with time to think