There is no warmth outside today
when ice and sleet cover the ground
beneath a freezing sky of gray
whose cold winds set the pines to sway.
No hints of autumn are around.

For this is winter at its worst
no thoughts of spring come into mind.
Shoulders hunch, cold lips are pursed
I survey a landscape that seems cursed
a world described, at best, unkind.

And now I top a final hill,
more chore than joy found in this walk.
I'm lucky not taking a spill
tripped by some vine beside the tiny rill
or by a gimpy knee's cold balk.

I look about the bleak surroundings
and think of how all seasons end.
All winters always lead to springs
but as things always lead to things
one day I'll feel my last cold wind.