To Winter(Original Poem)

A heavy mist hangs the air in a state of contraction
In an icy crisp that feeds on every living soul
As skeleton trees surrender in a droopy resignation
Haunted air circles the solitary frail figures

A wintery death indifferent to its recipients
As the contraction draws in even a sentient oak
Graceful in its surrender, scarred in a seasonal demise
Embracing its humility in wisdom of that which is

Acceptance in the elegant grandeur of a conifer
Standing tall and majestic as a soldier on alert
For the timing is fit to breathe the icy air
That supports the greying firs on its back

A foggy shadow, reflecting the mirror white
In a slippery death that plays the stable game
In perfect sync with the rhythms of life
That feed the seasonal changes

Image credit: Pixabay