Poem 142, Sonnet 76: Winter Spell Poem by Samer Madbak

This is no June, 'tis not the summer bloom
But wintertide, this figure frail and ill
Cannot contend with Ruin's rugged will
This body's petered out before its doom
Capitulated ere the ghastly tomb
Consumed by aches and Torment's overkill
A face o'ergrown with many a snowy quill
Upon this skin telluric patches loom
Foretell the end, the crowning earthen womb
Dimmed eyes, deaf ears portend the closing still
The waning breath, the last turns of the mill...
I groom this carcass for its gelid room
I plume it with the soot of hallowed gloom
Embrace the till of Loss, my final chill.


Beirut
June 16th 2017