As leaves turn shades of gold and brown , Winter's whisper calls, while softly ,gently
silently. a seed's sown in the Fall.
The first soft coat will blanket all , as surely as the wind does call . It howls and whistles
telling all , to heed the change that's come to call.
A harbinger of winter's seige , a sentinel , a warning . A preview of what's yet to come ,
The Lion will come roaring!
We steel our hearts , brace ourselves , watching grey skies palling , knowing that ,
the dreaded beast will soon arrive befalling.
Winter blows will ride the skies , like sceaming Valkaries , and icey gales will chill the soul
and cause the strong to shudder.
Yet underneath and tucked away , a seed finds solace from it all.
December's winds are biting ,and January's harrowing.
February's fiercest , and sends the weary cowering.
Yet in the most extreme case , the ground does sleep through all ,
a stalwart , timeless Fortress for a seed sown in the Fall.
The "old Man's" hold begins to wane as March insists on thawing.
He tries to stay , but must away , his glory days are dwindling.
April warms the sleeping Earth , and slowly it's retaken.
Much revived she brings forth life , resembling flowers we once saw.
And underneath the stirring ground a new life has awakened.
The growth of something left behind , a seed sown in the Fall.