The Kebilsphere

Soon come the dreadful dreary days of winter
Too short the sun, to long the night

I must steel myself now for the time to come
The black frigid wind soon will be howling

I fear the death breath that she will bring
The emptied air that holds no comfort
And the merciless severity of it all

The snow will come to bury cold’s victims
The trees all bare, grass brown, skies empty
A lifeless landscape where once there was plenty

Winter, I beg you, please pass me by
Leave me to tend to my garden just planted
I am a late farmer, poor in wealth and in soul
Have not yet regained strength
From the year now passing, soon gone