The words in italics are from 'Patterns of Chaos' by Colin Kapp (1972).

Winter Perhaps it started as a whisper in some white wilderness - The sick spite of a broken body, cradled in cold, Crying futility into a futile wind… Winter is coming again Cold, jittery The ragged nerve end High feeling for the object of art. The nibbling nerve; shifting Elation against despair Joy against fear With the steel cold crib of winter presiding catalyst. The frost-thin, fragile, brittle air The splintering wafers of an ice-thin spirit... Winter cannot be shielded, for It penetrates, pervades the soul. The stars shine clear and sharp The spirit of the cold inside me My thin breath is drawn sharp with the pang of Fear.