(photo © Loree)
Winter's days are dreary,
With dark nights that are long,
Short days that are missing,
The sound of birds' sweet song.
Stubborn leaves that have held on,
Fall to the ground at last,
Giving in to Winter's grip,
Spurred on by frigid blast.
Cold winds howl around the house,
Like some banshee that's crazed,
Frighten all who hear its' sound,
And leave them almost dazed.
Trees then moan, beneath the weight,
Of ice that makes them bend,
Oh God, where is relief we want?
How soon will winter end?
As if on cue, the sun returns,
It follows each new storm,
To fill all creatures, once again,
With hope, and make them warm.
Alas, mans' nature is such that,
He'll gripe and then complain,
Too hot when there is sunshine,
Too wet when there is rain.
(c) 01/06/05 Loree (Mason) O'Neil
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