When the First Frost Appears

The Breath becomes a Messenger

That speaks in frosty Tongues

Each Exhalation bears the News

That Winter's Bell has Rung

The Leaves, now Pilgrims of Descent,

Release their Crimson Hold

While Frost, that Patient Seamstress, sews

Her Crystals sharp and Bold

I feel the Earth grow Obstinate

Her softness turned stiff

Each step sounds a Funeral March

For Warmth I've always Known

The Light, a Miser with her Gold,

Departs before her Due

And Branches stripped of their Attire

Stand Naked to my View

A Woodpecker, that tiny Priest,

Performs his Morning Rite

While Chimneys birth their first Confessions

To the Pallid Light

My Fingers seek their woolen Church

My Palms their Sacred Cup

The Scent of Death and Evergreen

Conspire to wake me Up

The Season poises on her Hinge

Between what Was and Is

I stand a Witness to the World's

Most Intimate Soliloquy

Soon Silence, that grand Surgeon,

Will cover the Earth in White

I taste Tomorrow's Cold

Upon Tonight's last Bite