Sea­sons Po­etry

The darker nights are draw­ing in As win­ter threat­ens to be­gin. With dis­mal days and heavy skies It closes in as au­tumn dies.

This England - - Contents - Den­nis W. Turner

A wind is blow­ing from the hills To bring the first of win­ter’s chills. A howl­ing northerly pre­vails And naked trees bend to the gales.

The cold, short days and frosty nights Are back­drops for the Christ­mas lights That strive to bring a lit­tle cheer To this, the darkest time of year. And still the winds of win­ter blow To bring the Jan­uary snow To craft – as by some un­seen hand – A pris­tine win­ter won­der­land. A great ex­panse of daz­zling white, Trans­form­ing land­scapes overnight. A scene where ponds and pud­dles freeze And ici­cles adorn the trees.

Out on the hill­sides, chil­dren play, But win­ter isn’t here to stay: Be­fore the win­ter days are done Come signs that spring­time has be­gun.

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