Winter. A poem

As it is now well into the winter season, here is a poem to celebrate it.


Everything dead.

Nothing moves.

The skies of lead

Press down on the roofs.

The icicles hang

Like teeth in the maw.

Each one a fang

In a wolf’s jaw.

The wind with his knife

Cuts through to the bone.

Soon snow will arrive

And the swallows have flown.

The trees that were green

Are now turned to white,

And everything’s seen

In a glowing bright light.

But look what I’ve found!

A tiny green shoot

Pushing up through the ground.

A snowdrop, no doubt.

It tells of the spring

Not so far away,

And how it will bring

All the flowers of May.

I hope you enjoyed reading my poem. I would love to hear what you think of it.

Do you enjoy poetry? Many people don’t, and poetry books, it is said, don’t sell very well, but I find that some of my most popular posts are my poems.

Please leave your comments in the comments box.

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7 thoughts on “Winter. A poem”

  1. I enjoyed your winter poem, Vivienne. Its a great shame (and grave concern) that climate change is making the seasons merge into 1. Nonetheless there is, thankfully still a distinctive winter season, which you capture well in your poem. Best wishes. Kevin

    Liked by 1 person

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