Winter Waits
By BloodBrother
A graceful bird flies the skies of polar dawn,
November gray embellishes the city, its austere
Glaze across the grassy parks, touched with snow.
Is it God's untouched creations, ones which sparkle
In the spotlight of winter mornings that we revere?
Everyone forlorn and forgotten becomes just a little
More frigid in the wintry weather of sawdust snowflakes
That taper the smooth roadways. Some relish the intense
Cold that rips through naked branches, exposed to the wind,
Who's snarling howls bite with the ferocitiy of snakes.
Winter waits for not one soul who dies in the cold,
But is absorbed into our culture, our icebox mold.
