Winter
The night day beckons snow.
Last night’s sharp, sharp frost,
Means I lie here and cannot bear to throw
The covers from where they are tossed.
Care worn women fight the storm
To garner provisions for the store
Against nature’s mighty form.
To protect the children they bore.
But I stay here and when it comes
It will be no card scene
But the silent reminder that becomes
The chill, cold and mean.
No one can come,
But none would come in this season
Of nothingness. A time to sum
Up what has been and for what reason.
I am the winter.
Its loneliness and stillness,
Only I am older,
A more solemn witness.
Dave Urmston 2016 c
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