The Birth of Winter Is Death

The leaves they fall, the wind it swirls, movement, The air turns brisk, the frost it nips, cold front, The summer fades, Winter returns, lament, The weather is changed, from playful to blunt. Memories of summer pale in the snow, All that is known is cold, frost, numb, bleak, The lack of all warmth is all that is known, Time passes slowly, a day is a week. Why is beauty to be found in the death? For all winter is, is Nature’s chilled pyre, The acknowledgement of Mother’s last breath, Life extinguished from Spring, Summer, Fall’s fire. Winter has a dangerous allure, For blizzards can murder, yet they are pure.