Winter-me

Winter is like a whistle

descending from the gods

drawing to the moment

fiercely embracing

so intense I want to hide

before it catches my skin.

Gloomy foggy streets

iced naked trees, birds sheltered

bright stars in solitude

short days and long nights.

Is that time of the year

 god opens his window

and looks around to admire

so all needs to be quiet

nights cold and silent;

I wonder if he feels

how warm we are inside.

Image - Zermatt (Switzerland)