In The Dead Of Winter Poem by David Wood

In The Dead Of Winter

Rating: 4.3


White feathery frosts of ice on grass
And trees. Heavy frigid breaths do pass,
With blustery icy cold wind on your face.
Damp paths and wet cold roads trace
A pattern and icicles hang from gutters.

Mist swirls around wispy folds unwinds
And forms cold clumps of foggy binds
Like some super glue in low lying lands,
That saps the strength and chills the hands.
Of stamping feet of cold dead legs.

With cars not starting and batteries dead
And frosted windscreens is enough said.
The wet glistening vapour on metal glowing,
And water running down the window showing.
Of wispy smoke rising aloft from chimneys.

Of hard cold vegetables stuck in the ground
Hoar frost freezing the hard grown mound.
Dark clouds rising from grounds so harden
And snow falling in the dank cold garden.
The frozen earth does not complain.
The dead of winter comes round again.

Monday, March 25, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: winter
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Loke Kok Yee 23 September 2015

We don't have winter in my country. But after reading your poem, I feel that I have been through one! -10

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Valerie Dohren 25 August 2013

Brrrrrrr - feel quite chilly now David, we only just seem to have left last winter, and now it is soon to return. Very descriptive write, enjoyed reading.

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