WINTER VOYAGERS

January is a changeling

Thrust from the womb of a spontaneous winter thaw.

Cold and spare is the road to spring,

Winding down dry barks of nature's law.

From fettered windows,I greet him,

And grieve for his maternal loss.

Hope is but an ill begotten whim

Melancholy has gone for a toss.

Likely friends are we to be

Wading through porous cuts

Cursed siblings destined to weep,

Over bearing the world's brunt.

Come February, And we'll be chapped and dry

Envisioning love's grand story,

And drinking winter's last brine.

My username is Madmenwearing fedora.