Sitting on a rock in the cold sun.
The wind comes up from the sparkling river and whispers of a future spring.
There is yet a core of warmth in the twisting wind, a hope of dog starred August days.
Winter has for a moment lost the thread,
Lady frost is searching for clear moonlight, for razor pinpoints of light on hoarfrost frozen fields.
-EH
Now in the midst of dreary winter, while the hills wear their white mantles, I sense a withering of will, and a drying up of muscle. When buds burst into leaves, I also break out in motion, powering against the rusted pedals, to rush down that path of leaves; rustling. .
Wintry winds tear at my coat, seek to reach my guarded soul, And follow me into my bungalow to snuff out my little flame. When Summer, oh summer, comes, I shall ride the streets of sun, catch the warm rays upon my back, spreading a glow through my winter shrunken frame.
-Ezra Hilyer