Winter

What good is a day
that is really night
sheepishly shrouded
behind dismal clouds
of rains until it has
the true right to reign
over land it has stolen
from the sun?

What good is a day
of mourners
wearing black
not noticing time
or the sky or flower buds
because they are
walking to a grave site
to bury their beloved?

What good is a day
when the only song
you hear is silence
and your blood has
turned to ice
because winter’s sheath
has stilled the waters
and chased the living indoors?