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Ode to Winter
September 28, 2011
Who would sing a song of death
In autumn, to one about to die?
Leaves ride upon the wind’s cold breath
Leaving the branches bare and dry
Now that the sun is obsolete
The frigid cold’s aroused
And with nature’s firm accolades
The snowflakes drift and fill the streets
Like crackled leaves from boughs
Thus no more autumn serenades
© Kristen S., Sewell, NJ
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