Spin-off of November by Thomas Hood
White field-- white snow!
Everything withers--nothing grows!
No flora-- no fauna--an ice tundra where no one goes.
A ghost of a memory-- a vivid flash of pain
Vision in white-- not a thing to see
But no, hidden--where could it be?
Kisses, hushes, heard in the dark,
the world is different you see, when white covers bark.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No trees--no leaves
December.