Time serves cold
making seasons complete,
silver steals the autumn gold,
and daylight hours retreat.

Window panes are icy etched
transparent around the center,
from the eaves icicles stretched
like frozen tears of winter.

The brook in its silence, lost,
beneath a mantle steep
lies still in solid frost
in a crystal covered sleep.

From each of the chemnies cascades
a steady stream of smoke,
rises up and then fades
into midnights mighty cloak.

Silence is this seasons song
lulled by the essence of the wind
as it lay the blanket on the ground,
and tucks all of nature in.