“He’s Back”

The rustle of cold colors whirl and shout

and in their dance, a warning to revere.

A halo’s on the mountain tops about

and breezy waves of solemn shades appear.

Soft yellows made among gray clouds, aloft

and whisper to the shiv`ring wintry scene:

“I am the cold, blue howl that bellows oft

and scurries down your icy, trickling stream”.

Then comes insanity; bold groans below

among  the forest faces painted white.

I hear the branch’s thoughts that break; bestow

a heaviness of heart in fading light.

Here burns the ghost of winter’s bleak return;

repetitive, yet for our souls we yearn.

iambic pentameter, nature, Poetry, Shakespearean sonnet, Sonnet, verse, Winter Season, winter thoughts