The Winter's snow that blinds me only serves to remind me that
this,
is not my Winter.
My Winter will come after my last dance in the Sun,and
after the threads of my life have worn thin,
my Winter's winds will blow in on to my wrinkled skin.

Here where I dwell
where I once fell into Spring with a song in the air,
I smell death everywhere.
Fallen
I rise,
eyes reflecting blue skies.
This Winter is not my Winter yet.