Against a backdrop of new-fallen snow

The creek's iced over, slowed to a trickle,

Winter’s claws firmly grip, like a beau

Oh, but Winter, now, she is fickle


Flowing water turns to ice:

Its sculptures glistening along the river

And barren trees, they pay the price

Too frozen stiff to even quiver


But the rough-hewn cabin cares not if it's windy;

It harbors warmth, and light, and life

And blue smoke curls up from the chimney

While outdoors, the chill cuts like a knife



©1999 - 2024  Mary Barnett / Moodesigns