The cold is here, the woods are full of snow
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The river with its crusted banks of ice
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Bespeak of winter drownings long ago
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The chest pressed tightly, as though in a vise
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The birds have flown away to warmer climes
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The mammals in their caves to hibernate
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The summer seems a lost and gentle time
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When grass grew up against the swinging gate
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The children's cheeks have turned a rosy red
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The wealthy are beside their fires, warm
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And then there's he who is without a bed
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In which to lay and ride the raging storm
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And in the graveyard, cold old bones do lie
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And far above, the stars light up the sky
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Sonnet 3 (The Cold Is Here)
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| Crash Test Dummies |
