Winter On The Verge

Winter arrives after 6 am ET Friday. I just composed this welcome ode:

WINTER ON THE VERGE

The wind whistles in the dancing pine
Crimson cardinals shatter seeds
Brazen yet the corpulent squirrel
Among fallen needles forever feeds

Knowing oaks point bare fingers high
Steel-gray clouds creep in and merge
Familiar songs ride every gale
Winter on the verge

Festive lights illuminate our street
Then reflect a ballet of flakes
A flurry first before we meet
Settling snow and ice-protected lakes

A pair of skates with virgin blades
Now comes their seasonal urge
They dream of perfect wonderlands
Winter on the verge

Spring then Summer then Autumn whirl
Ephemeral life relentless goes
Beckons now a brand new day
As sure as cold wind blows

The wind whistles in the dancing pine
Hallowed memories emerge
Faith in greatest tenacity
Winter on the verge

© 2012 Mark Newman