Are We Cold Yet?

It’s there
     In the air,
You can sense the hawk sweeping.
Soon,
     Very soon
It will wake from its sleeping
To bite and to nip
To claw and to rip
To haunt and to halt
In its bone-chilling grip.
 
Good sense says to hide,
To keep safely inside
Secure by the fireside
To weather the tide.
But fate bids me go
On my trek through the snow,
And suffer her wrath
As her glacial winds blow.
 
And the taut winter breeze
Brings the strong to their knees
As autumn surrenders
To deep winter’s freeze.
 
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