The Evening sky, like fluid dark blue ink.
Millions of stars, to make you stare and think
Of the years it took to grow, and sparkle there,
Like thoughts, and dreams you are afraid to share.

The coldness of the wind as it blows upon your face.
Bare trees, flinging dancing branches of black lace,
Begging the snow to fall, and once more spread
Its spotless quilt, mimics covers on a bed.

Slippery pathways, beneath your careless gliding feet.
Ponds solid with ice, inviting you to a treat
Of dancing whirling madness, for you to skate,
To waltz, and prance, and fall; what is your fate?

Winter, to the young at heart, is careless fun.
With the years, comes the yearning for the sun.
In a few weeks, a fragile primrose on the bank.
Spring will come, sun glow, and mother earth we thank.

© Kathy McKay Sinclair