Sonnet to a Winter’s Night
In a blistering winter’s night comes rain,
Whispering spirits of a softer day.
Murmurs which haunt a somber kind of pain.
A chill’s tender tongue flicks and flays.
The air, besieged by crystal, breathes
And sways in a wanton waltz of blue.
The rust singes the brittle lips and sings
What only the cradle of the breast soothes.
In the calm flare of a lingering breath,
We wrote an immortal book of the wretch.
Kissing under the gallows, we steal death,
Lest we scribble an ominous sketch.
Hide not from the rattling skeleton,
It breathes through the air we take refuge in.