A Winter's Tale by John Grey

This can’t be anything but winter,
not with such a snow-packed canopy
and the surrounding hills vanilla-white,

while the return from the store
requires walking sticks, studs on boots,
to thwart the sidewalk’s ice,

as we head one way, the sun another,
somehow, without once falling,
make it back to the B & B,

an old Victorian, under layers of frosting,
with flying buttresses, pinnacles, pitched gables,
and deer antlers over the door,

and a couch, a ruddy fireplace
with a degree of heat
for every one we’ve lost,

as, confined by comfort and misted panes,
we sip wine where flames cackle,
cuddle close where they can’t reach -

this is winter according to our blueprint -
it can’t be anything else.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Washington Square Review and Floyd County Moonshine. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings.