alone i trudge

winter whispers warn the woods
the old oaks moan in hardened woe
creatures of summer fled long ago
and the silence tells me that I should

alone I trudge this dying 'scape
caviling the chill's contrivance
demanding reprieve for but an instant
the warmth of flame, a coat to drape

I imagine Chaucer's elegy
would embrace a dreary place as this
scourging my mind this heaviness
replete with dreadful harmony

but lo, no refuge impedes my path
no footsteps left for me to follow
just this bane of endless snow
and the windless whispers of my wrath

© MJG 2005