Winter’s Beckoning
A sonnet for winter
A sylvan frost gently nips my ear lobes
Fluttering ghosts caressing soft and gray
Sunlight dazzles my eyes in fraying strobes
skidding, spiralling through tree-fringed walkways
My chafed lips draw a draft of mildewed air
With damp embers of kisses they do gleam
Hands tucked in the raining feel of cashmere
A matronly warmth sewn between its seams
Twilight sings purple jazz to horizons
Robins retreating with reluctant sighs
Puddles beneath ice chime in oblivion
their sinuous-flowing braid brittled dry
And when I sleep, I fade as the cold earth below me
Lofty promises tucked beneath a soft pillow crease.
Author Notes: I have lived in either tropical or equatorial climates so obviously, I romanticize white winters.
My favourite cold-comfort winter poem is Robert Frost’s Stopping By Woods On A Winter Evening.
Thank you for reading. Happy last-month-of-the-dreadful-year-that-it-was!
If you liked this, you may also enjoy another seasonal poem:
