The bare bones of Winter stand upon my doorstep and rattle at the windows of my home,

It's cold breath exhales a scent of Fir trees and damp logs that linger on the loam,

To truly see it's beauty you have look past the stark absence of flesh upon the bone,

And accept that the time has come for it put to bed the summer we have known,

And in its muffled depths it hold its breath and makes all living thing do the same,

It only asks for patience, needs no sacrifice to be supplied in its name,

It is a time for the land to fall asleep and renounce our supposed claim,

And heal its scorched and brittle skin cracked and pitted by Summers flame,

And no part of its somber peace and solitude will take us unexpected,

Beneath its tempered covering lays this tired land we love, protected,

And as a bandage and a balm it heals and soothes this tired earth,

Until the Summer comes again and gifts to us its bright rebirth.