Above this covered place the north wind plays;
Her frigid breath bids fall its last goodbyes;
What comfort lingers here, retreats with days,
While pallid beams ascend on piercing eyes.
Her shadows stir fell warnings in the skies,
As winds rush eagerly to fill cold graves;
Her fingers grabbing leaves, as autumn dies,
To crush all hopes in grottos and dank caves.
How cruel, her tears lash down, her fury raves,
So desp'rate wooded limbs catch shiv'ring colds;
To tear each sweat soaked frozen bough that braves
To bear her vengeful rue: no reason holds.
Her wheeping howl of fury further sews
Her cries, but sudden mercies summon snows...
-December 15,2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello David, many many years old! lol Very nice Spenserian Sonnet, very biblically seasonal. 9 from Santa's Tai Helper wishing you a Merry Christmas