Changing of a season
Viewed like treason
Dawning of winter
Wind jabs like a splinter
Through the skin it breaks
Whiteout of the senses
Filling every one of the tenses
Air choked with brittle ice
Stinging worse than head in a vice
Not sure there’s a shelf life
Blanket of pearly white
Covers whether day or night
Crunch beneath every foot
Mirror to an expanse of soot
This is all too quiet
Rise of the yellow sun
Too cold to melt even one
Silent just like the grave
Challenge only if you’re feeling brave
Don’t undersetimate how long it will remain
Simon A Jackson - Writer 