I don't know how many seconds I have left,
Wishing to see you before my very last breath,
One more touch,
One more kiss before I go to bed,

Don't let this make you cry,
I maybe far,
But ill always be your star,
Remember me,
From the flesh to the bones.

My apologies if this is a repost.

The moon hangs low, o’er the glistening snow,
frost deeply trenchant within.
The cold winds sigh, and brush wolves cry,
so their nightly serenades begin.
The crackling house, the scavenging mouse,
that scuttles away in fright.
For the hoot of an owl, out on the prowl,
warns it’s seeking its prey tonight.

There’s an air of doom in the graveyard gloom:
the church stands quiet in silhouette.
Through rising fog, we hear a barking dog,
smoke spins in pirouette.
The chatter of trees in the soughing breeze,
and sounds of a distant train.
A rabbit’s scream, part of Nature’s scheme:
when the Red Fox kills again.

Roof rafters snap and rattle; soft lowing of cattle,
fowls huddle close in ranks;
ice hangs from gables, over horses in stables,
who stamp feet on wooden planks.
They’re impatient to go, out into the snow,
loving the brisk snap of the air,
but our cat does not aspire, to leave the fire,
or remove itself from my chair.

On a cold winter night with the moon clear and bright,
and stars are twinkling above:
it’s great for viewing; to see what’s brewing,
and a time I enjoy and love.
When the snow lies deep, the world’s asleep,
a pleasure for which I prepare.
Such a starlit night, is a joyous delight,
and a time that’s precious and rare.

Rhymer February 25th, 2018.

My breath billowed in the winter air,
to hang suspended, and shimmer where,
it drifted as a glittering cloud of frost;
then it was gone! It’s presence lost!

Stamping my feet, for the air is cold,
and I, no more a lad, am growing old,
thought of the days, when we’d feast
on roasted chestnuts, a dozen at least.

Returning home, to warm up inside,
after a pleasant, jingling sleigh ride,
I would marvel at the winter scene,
and how conifers contrasted green,

with the hard whiteness of the snow,
and how winter sun did sharply show
trees in silhouette. Ice that would adorn
the eaves and paddock fence at morn,

was ever a grand sight to behold. A sign
winter was here to stay awhile. Benign
at first, but clouds racing across the sky
foretold snow would, in the short by and by,

fall to gladden the heart of this country boy.
One who accepted Winter’s gifts with joy.
No matter what the  weather might be?

Rhymer. March 1st, 2018.
(Must admit, I'm not so keen on winter now!)
In truth, it was ever a fun time for me!

This dark piece is not completely sweet
Melting on the tongue, I feel its make-believe.
How can it be bitter when I let it rest
And be like nectar when I cannot possess?