Winter falls upon you
Like the icy morning dew
That freezes in your surface
A shield of unimportance.

Your back hurts from the frost
Bitten you ignore the sense at last
Shed from strain of polite games
Under that cover that is your age.

But the white fluf speckles that walse
On their labirintic ways to the grounds
Will turn grey as your hair and melt
Before you feel their Christmas sound.

You are free but so alone
In this unforgiving tone.