The days grow longer
And I grow weaker
I'm not a summer child.
I relish the endless night
Snuggled under duvets
And chilling winds that bite.
Give me skeletal trees
Wearing cloaks of freezing, grey fog
Sheltering only the hardiest of creatures .
Keep your fat, green trees
Ripe with fruity riches,
Showering their ground with their excesses
Enveloping all in their leafy layers
Away from the sun's fearsome burns .
Give me instead the warm glow of a log fire
Crackling and sparking as the moon rises
And takes it turn to be Lord of the Skies.
Oh, give me wistful winter nights;
And you may have your long, tedious summer days.
© 2008 Webwitch for Pagan Poetry Pages
And I grow weaker
I'm not a summer child.
I relish the endless night
Snuggled under duvets
And chilling winds that bite.
Give me skeletal trees
Wearing cloaks of freezing, grey fog
Sheltering only the hardiest of creatures .
Keep your fat, green trees
Ripe with fruity riches,
Showering their ground with their excesses
Enveloping all in their leafy layers
Away from the sun's fearsome burns .
Give me instead the warm glow of a log fire
Crackling and sparking as the moon rises
And takes it turn to be Lord of the Skies.
Oh, give me wistful winter nights;
And you may have your long, tedious summer days.
© 2008 Webwitch for Pagan Poetry Pages
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