First light, windows fogged from the cold

That breathes on them, I feel a child-like

Urge to write something there, my name

Perhaps or just some random doodle expressing

Nothing more than a reflective desire to break

The monotony of frosted glass.

Nature lost her mind as I slept last night, heart

Turned cold with bitter tears that covered her

Madness in a veil of white across the face of

December, her voice a haunting litany of  whispered

Secrets best left kept, but shared all the same and

Mocked by the tinkling laughter of hanging chimes.

Insulted, her whisper became a rising howl of

Indignation, from a throat raw with misuse,

Coughed frozen spittle from the wind-choked

Lunacy of her aimless lashings, rage that blocked

Out the moon with a wild, restless, charcoal-like

Rolling sea of cloudy temperament.  

Winter had come.