When the wind blows chill

Withering fruit on the vine

It takes the music

From a poets soul

Snuffs out the lighted candle

Silencing notes that only you can hear

Rhymes in your head dry and cracked like forgotten paint

In an alley leading nowhere

The skull beneath the skin

The emptiness within

The meaning

Is gone

But the frost lives on

Winters song

You hope will bring

New hope of spring

Green shoots that bind

And heal within your fragile poets mind