Low is Winter, dressed in white,
Short by day, long by night,
Sleeping flora, muted light,
Betrays the wonder of my sight.

Lest ye love Winter’s grasp
Holding tight her frigid fast;
Pray to sun and green of past
So far away, a doubt is cast.

Maketh mercy, thoughts o’ small
Find a warmth from minded wall,
But cold is fact and doth forestall.
Fantastic dreams don’t work at all.

So, leave me Winter, now depraved,
Dependent to the source you gave.
Restless for the warming wave
And green of leaf in conscious, save.