White Out

Silence, surrounds me so,
An eerie fog lingering in the still air,
With not a hint of wind to blow,
This sadness away from here,
I feel, all of this bleak day,
From morn till dusk,
Will be under this darkened way
As winter drains the land to a husk,

Such desolation befallen on my gaze,
And with winter in full throe,
Still can l not fail to be amazed,
At the romanticism that is bestowed,
Upon lands as far as my eyes can see,
Covered in such a fine white display,
And despite such bitterness, truest beauty,
On this dreary and miserable day,

Stark trees standing alone in the mist,
A whisper of their former selves,
Naked and bare an’ covered in crisp,
Traces of last nights’ hard weather,
And yet still, do l stand in such awe,
Of mother natures’ visible pleasures,
With her artistic ability to draw,
My attention to her wintry demure,

Never fail will l, to so admire,
The romantically inclined countryside,
Of my home here in Lincolnshire,
As ‘tis with me in heart and soul tied.

Lincolnshire – Winter 2011

© Rory Matier 2011

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