Winter Contented by Anthony Ward
Winter Contented
After the pastels of spring
The vibrant oils of summer embolden the canvas,
Before the charcoals of autumn
Sere with senescence,
Kindling to ash
The charred remnants of trees that creaking with wait.
Their chthonic vertebrae silhouetted by the sun,
Railing along the horizon,
Smudged throughout the cloud,
Amidst the watercolours of winters washed out landscapes.
Those whitening frosts diluting dawn to pink,
Bringing rivers to a standstill.
The crunch of crisp snow like fresh apples
Thuds you in the face with its brutal beauty,
While, bent like hawthorn, you brace against the chill.
Nuddling along disused railways.
Past preserved pastures and motionless meadows ,
Bludgeoned by the inclemency,
Heaths haggard with composure in tranquil taciturnity,
Amidst the most silent of seasons
Without which there would be no longing.
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