And yet, with Summer come and gone, Winter casts its desolate shadow too soon; Who knew Death to be so beautiful and placid (shamefully so). Who knew Death to be so bold and impartial (willfully so). Who knew Death to be so cold and cunning (painfully so). And so, with each a shadow cast, Winter - I’ll find within Something to end my desolate shadow too.
From my poetry book "The Reception: Black, White, and Grey"