Winter is come, fell messenger,
On wings of leaden, deadening grey.
A sere light clamps the stricken earth;
Deep frost splits the clay.
The summer breeze's cooling kiss
Is now a lacerating knife, slashing
And stabbing its sharpened tongue
Into every weakness of my life.
I sowed the seeds, so do not bemoan
This harvest that I reap alone.
I must pull my coat around me, now,
Head down against the storm.
How far, how far away is Spring?
And when shall I be warm?
