Wintersigh

A hush drifts down from nowhere,
A veil the night has spun,
The earth forgets its own breath,
Beneath a hollow sun.
The trees are blackened lanterns,
Their branches claw the sky,
They scratch at frozen silence,
And whisper Wintersigh.
The snow is not mere snowfall,
But ashes from a dream,
They settle on the stillness,
And blur the moon’s pale gleam.
The wind is not just breathing,
It chants in tongues unknown,
It circles round the wanderer,
And chills him to the bone.
The rivers sleep in silver,
Their voices locked in glass,
Yet underneath the silence,
Strange shadows seem to pass.
The stars are eyes unblinking,
They watch with patient dread,
They know the names of secrets,
The living never said.
The night is long and endless,
It bends the soul to hear,
A music faint, unearthly,
That only ghosts draw near.
And somewhere in the distance,
A bell begins to cry,
Its tolling folds the darkness,
Into one long Wintersigh.
So winter is no season,
But a spell the world must keep,
A dream of glass and sorrow,
Where time itself must sleep.