Hibernate

It is a sorrowful thing is it not?

when summer comes to pass

with cruel winds and driving rain

unleashed upon our paths

 

The trees do bare their barren souls

like blankets their leaves create a warmth

no longer basking in the summer's sun

but huddled close about their feet

 

The wind howls, for no man dare to wonder

and the treachery of a driving storm

brings blackened angry thunder

 

And yet deep inside us waits to greet

a passion so intense and strong

for is it not a creature hidden

to be unsuspectingly sprung upon?

 

Alas the snows have now begun

wrap warmly, keep safe and stay inside

for not before you have kissed good night

with snuggle-down cosiness can you hide

 

It is a sorrowful thing is not?

when summer comes to pass!

..................Tizme

Done