Poem -

Her weathered wheel

Her weathered wheel

Mother Nature’s cycle of her season has turned her weathered wheel once more, she has said farewell to November and closed it’s autumnal door.. gone are our burnt, golden hues of    picturesque palettes scattered on the ground as one is welcomed with winter’s wrath lying bleached, white all around 

Raw as a diamond, as cold as ice.. December’s crudeness is the twelth month’s demise..chilling everything it touches to the very bone, turning earth to iron, water to stone..Oh the sudden change of penetrating pain from the harsh reality of winter’s reign..we batten down the hatches and stay warm indoors as the tempest of the storm hits us and the Northerly winds blows..yet we shall survive December’s bitter bleak from her howling harshness with her wintry wreak

Whilst the cutting-edge of Arctic chill sends shrewdness sore with colds to kill..a piercing purge of Polar plight, bellowing below-freezing numbness of icy white.. but wrap-up warm in weighted wool to shield from shivering, Siberian cool..do what you can and  do what you will to battle thru the blight from Mother Nature’s will..alas her severity of stinging sharp may last until she gives up the ghost and winter’s past..then and only one will sigh from cold’s demise and Spring’s sunshine sky

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