Winters Eve Poem by Jeremy Goodman

A bitter bite on winters eve,
A chilling to the bone.

The skies cant breathe
The sun cant see
And days are growing old.

Nature, she has bundled up
She's given in to cold.

Restlessly, it pulls at me
Telling me im home.

Its seems im like the giving tree,
A cycle of its own,
The nights still pass
And through this glass
I see what it wants known

The shell is there, the branches tall,
But leaves? i do not know.
The sap runs thin. but then again
The roots are all it knows.

A fortress build of solitude,
Held with mortar, made of twigs,
Nothing is all it desires,
Nothing is within

In time, one will make its home
Far up, above the ground.
But i will never leave here
My graveyard.
My home.