casting ghastly shadows on a frosted lawn.While some behemoth of dread looms over
an empty carapace of a former life.And naked trees scratch the air,
with the chilling gunshot cracks of thawing ice bursting from nowhere.The crunching of ice sculptured grass under foot,
and the silent winds of change overhead.Our faces crimson with the burning cold.
Our hands stinging in our pockets.And the lament of some far seer,
chilled with the knowledge of what's to come.