Season of Death
The season of death, normally timid, comes unbidden and strong,
A new confidence in the wake of a red and gold chill.
It brings leafless trees, and a disappearing ground.
But death also brings a pale beauty,
Shining white, and bright in the cold sun.
The cold turns pink flesh, red, to blue, to black.
Eventually, if let loose long enough, it will bring death.
Death that is unlike a shot to the head,
Death that is slow, painful, and lasting.
Winter's special brand of death takes its biting time,
Like a torturer, takes his time with his prey.
With the end of a life also comes a great sadness,
Settling on all those who are close enough to hear of the tragedy.
It takes a strong will to get through the winter,
Especially without it affecting you to your core.
The Lady Winter is like a creature of the night,
Pale with a beauty so distracting,
You barley notice when it blows out your flame with a harsh breath.
Winter is sad, and leaves a tale of tragedy and pain wherever it may walk.