Winter

I take a few breaths from the world for a moment,

And soon, by that moment, cold is surging through every adornment of my face,

I feel my boots melt into the frost, holding up my body,

Dull, bitter, wintry, through my hands it's sent.

Snow shall waft and settle on railings as lace,

As trees will tremble like porcelain ribs against the gentleness of a heart's melody,

Three, then four, then five, as thinning ice armours my eyelashes,

It will snap, and it will bite, but it will melt against my woollen garments.

In the comfort of a symphony of the wind it is carried through the village,

Through whites, and blues, and the reds and oranges of my home.