Winter is Coming
Dried leaf scratches its noisy way
Across my path.
Cat retreats deeper into the doorway
Out of the blistering wind.
Sky full of clouds, smell of snow.
Winter is coming.
Night sun buries his face to earth.
Slowly suspending his daily harvest--
Piles of tint and heaps of chroma
In oat house and warm barn.
Rays of darkness
Spread across the twilight
Sky stealing in small corners of the loft,
Scavengers ransacking the day.
Greens devoured by omnivores;
Black skeleton left.
Sydney Peck is a schoolteacher and ardent poet, and in his spare time enjoys singing and playing traditional folk music.