Winter

Icy Desolation

The winter sun shines bright and right
lifting the veil off Fog in her swirling robes and swishing breath.
Lady Fog, with an icy clasp and sombre hue, holds an early morning sway
over hills and vales,o’er high and low, over the skies and earth,
over the humble hut and the lofty high-rise,
o’er the early bird and the morning jogger,
pacing his track  and over the walker out for his stroll.
Her icy breath fans chill-bruised cheeks, turning rosy with a wintry glow.
her breath, like vapour rises to settle down on the grass and the garden,
on petals in their bloom, nobody but nothing can escape Lady fog’s gloom.

There is a bite in the air,the snow covers like a canopy,
like a shroud with its dazzling whiteness and gleaming glitter ,
a stark reminder of death and desolation.
Nothing but nothing can dampen The. spirit of men and women hurrying to work, wrapped in  jackets and coats, in sweaters and shawls
of young children scurrying to school,rubbing their hands, clasping their satchels.
Now and then  crops up a wintry silhouette of a looming tree, tall and taut, steady and strong.
In the evenings, men hurry to cosy homes and hearths
but, what of the poor
without a roof over their head
and a floor under their feet.
I see them stretched over winter fires, rubbing their hands and warming their feet.
engaged in low murmurs  and tossing hot Rotis.
Winter may be cruel, winter may be ruthless.
Desolate the landscape, but not the spirit of man.
Nature’s vagaries, he dismisses as matter of fact.
Eyes and mind, trained on towering targets and worthy goals.
For he knows, does he not that if winter comes,
Can Spring be far behind?