Winter Is Coming Poem by Paul C. Maybury Jr.

The winter is coming, I sense it.
Not by the trees, though they color and thin.
Not by the leaves piled where oak logs fence it.
But by the cold in the tuck of my chin.

Red ears at the bus stop, cold noses well wrapped.
Feet stamping and shuffling, wind kept at the back.
Gratefully climbing the warm stairs crowd trapped
Bottle filled carts pushed by human shaped sack.

Sure nature is signing the coming of cold
Some wastelands, unmarked by man, sound to wolve's howl.
But where the mass huddles behind brick walls cold,
The signs are more subtle; the scarf, glove, and cowl.

The deepening blue of the sky of the fall,
The declining sun arc and shortening day,
The mood that is darkened by dim autumn pall.
Yes, winter is coming, it won't stay away.