The Chill Of An Early Winter Poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY

There's an early winter in the air
But tis' naught from the ending of the fall
The leaves have yet to turn their golden reds
And sail freely through the early, morning mist

The eve arrives late...
Still beckoning the children to play
Before darkness cloakes the golden, autumn moon

Ah, the early winter is in my heart
It's my spirit that feels the chill
It comes from an emptiness inside

An emptiness...
Like that of a newborn babe who wakes
Finds the warmth of his mother's bosom is naught
And cries for the nourishment of the suckle

Tis' the emptiness of a broken heart I feel
Yes...
The chill of an early winter

~