Winter

The night was dark, scant of light,
With just one star to see,
Frequently, a cloud it met,
No more a star to be.

The wind pushed hard the weakened bush,
Its limbs bent back in fear,
Winter came, blew harder still,
From house peaks it did leer.

No rabbits traveled from or since,
A fox not far behind,
The occasional slush but seldom heard,
Fell down with snowy shine.

Senses dulled in blowing snow,
Mind wanders to hearth and home,
Feet bound to warmth of flames,
Blithe fever a reach to roam.

Onto the comforter laying soft,
The mother’s gentle plea,
Sleet and snow shall go away,
“How kind of you”, said she.