A Coming Winter's Falling Night

The dusk has crept its heavy hands around
The riches that the world of color shows,
And in the night remaining sounds abound
In that which merits undiluted prose.

The rustles of the rugged, restless trees,
The footsteps fading farther as they go,
And in the freezing, breezing, pleasing peace
Our Mother Nature puffs the clouds of snow.

And in the heart the night does fall as well –
If love’s dream dies in dreadful cries expressed
By tolling of the tortured soul’s swung knell –
While thoughts it turns if that was cursed or blessed.

The morbid mood with snow shall sweetly shell
And soon shall be the time for jaunt and jest.