Winter
thistle head
in the flames
just as purple
the first frost
sparrow
eating bread on the grass
sparrow
eating bread on the grass
the first frost
the sun lost
behind the trees
winters chill
melted ice
beads on bare branches
pearls on a string
heavy rain
on the roof
curled up in bed
branches clack
a bird sits
forlorn
withered leaves
at night
winter whispers
rain rattles
tin roof drum taut
cleaning the soul
an owl rests
on the clothesline
then is gone
midwinter dawn
every step
into coldness
grey lake
against the shore
the waves surrender
the rain
stoops
young and old alike
on lake approach
ducks
break formation
too cold to fly
goldfinch
slumbers
so – cold spider
your knees and mine
to our chins
the birds
do not argue so
in winter
the moon
and my voice
are silver
the moon
and my voice
silver
All poetry (c) Steven Clarkson 2012-2013