towards zero

the sun holds back the cold

but with steadily weakening beams --

setting sooner, rising later;

the fangs of winter gleam.

their mark is seen on every blade

the weakened sunlight hits:

and where you step, stems shatter

breaking into bits.

a cold hand sweeps the covers

as I get in bed at night;

the trees are winter's spectres

as I turn out the light.

the sky's electric blue

behind the stars of diamond white --

winter's breath is in the air

and coming, winter's night.