The days crawl by in shades of slate,
Cold winds that bite, dull skies that wait.
The sun? A myth, long lost, long gone,
Each morning bleak, each evening drawn.

The rain taps out a hollow tune,
Against the glass, against my mood.
The trees stand bare, the fields are drowned,
The world is quiet, lost, unsound.

No warmth, no light, just time that drags,
Through sodden streets and weathered rags.
No birds, no flowers, no scent of green,
Just endless grey, this lifeless scene.

Oh, winter, will you ever end?
Or must we break before you bend?
For all you bring is damp and gloom,
A season locked inside a tomb.