Winter is cold. Winter is sharp. She bites hard and freezes your tears.
I look outside. I see her coming down the street in her silk blue gown and icicle crown.
Winter is beauty in white and blue and grey.
I want to love her. But I cannot. Her touch is cold. Her embrace is death.
Winter looks up at my window. She smiles cold and sharp and white. “I am here to stay.”
But I know she will leave me as she always will. And I will miss her as I always do.