The harsh flurry of white bullets raining
down on the ground shuddering from its cold touch.
The signs of all life, all hope waning;
disappearing are all the things we cherished so much.
Gone is the noisy chitter chatter of forest creatures,
replaced by an eerie deafness only present
in the barrens. The land had lost all its features,
becoming a place where all living is resent.
Gone are the vibrant colors of autumn,
the lazy leaves no longer form the earthen quilt.
Even eagle's sight becomes hazy
as under this white blanket all colors wilt.
But this barrenness of sound, color and life
provides clarity for the mind.
This absence of everything brings solutions to strife
and gives directions to what we need to find.
But this peace and harmony is only for winters past,
for in this line for next winter; I'll be last.