The oppressive winter, a fierce warlord
revels in his victory over the summer,
forcing all that was once living
to bear the heavy burden
of his frost,
confiscating our colors,
giving us only ice as payment.
However, in some obscure corner of this land,
Mother Nature hides,
waiting to restore our hues, our animation-
cowering, shrouded in secret.
Somewhere, she waits anxiously,
plump with child,
to bring us what we crave so terribly:
Somehow, she is certain that
Spring will restore someone’s lost joy.
Now it is just a matter of time.
An English assignment inspired me to write this piece. I had to write a poem based upon one of Dorothy Wordsworth's diary entries (William Wordsworth's wife to those who may not know of her). I finished the assignment, but it begot this.
Hmmm... I seem to have an affinity for ice imagery.