The season is a lullaby
of frosted clocks and prickling ire
impatience with the steadfast solemnity
of the wintertide uniform

Locked in crystal formation, the sunshine sleeps
where the mountains beckon
the very peaks
and the hours of the passing days diminish
into austere darkness,
Yet my heart thrills with each crystal shimmer
and beats a pulse that cannot be met
by any life
contained in snow

There is a whisper to my very soul
from the whitening glow
as it shatters the bones of cold

Such Redemption in the icy sound
sets my mind heaven bound