Winter is Cruel.

Winter is cruel.

Icy winds caress coldly,

like broken lovers.

The sky is grey

and indifferent to colour.

Frost bites fingers

like a bad-tempered animal.

The cemetery

is still and quiet,

and the flowers wilt

in the pots and containers.

I feel the cold

getting colder.

I, too, will lie here

when I'm older.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I find the juxtaposition of winter to cemeteries in brilliant contrast here. So good to read the humility of your words again, Terry.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you Kelly