OLD MAN WINTER
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.

C. L. Schrage