Winter Fangs

A Grossblank Poem

Max Pixel

The days of summer drifted tranquil as a dream,
with thoughts of winter buried back in early spring.
But now I hear that he has blown back into town
to stir unpleasant memories of times gone by.
This morning brought him calling in his bleak, white coat.
Around him flowers wilt beneath his rude embrace.
I hear his whispers beckoning to let him in
and see his frosty breath fog up the window-panes.
Above my door his icy fangs hang waiting for
a chance to drop and snuggle close against my skin
— to nibble at my ears and chap my lips. Oh how
I shudder at the thought of winter's dreaded kiss.