The Winter

In winter’s hold, the world lies still, Encased in white, a hoary chill; The trees like sentinels stand high, With flakes of snow that autumn sighs.

The winds do howl, a wild refrain, While quiet whispers echo plain; A universe of peace unfolds, As nature’s story gently molds.

With every gust, the frosty breath, Transports the dreams of life and death; And in this cold, a warmth we seek— In moments still, our hearts do speak.

O winter, cloak of gentle grace, Wrap me tight in your embrace; For in your depths, I sense the fire— The essence of my heart’s desire.

• George William Curtis