Winter's Warriors Poem by poppy miller

The winter night grows cold
As wind and cloud beat the earth,
Spattering heaven's tears across the cottage door.
Inside, the old man lays down his cane
And retires to his straw mattress,
Drawing his thin quilt to his chin.
The candle flickers to an end
And his eyes grow heavy
From the glow of the embers.
Fragrance from the burning pinecones
Fills the air and soothes his mind.
Soon he sleeps.
With the dawn come the warriors of winter
Beating at his door; but he does not rise
And the brown withered leaves of summer
Come to pay their last respects.