Ghost of Winter
I can feel him in my bones.
A chill has descended on my world
I can see him in the breath that forms a mist before me.
I can hear him in the wind that whispers to the pines.
Barren trees flex their skeletal fingers
While wasted leaves plummet to their death.
His presence is betrayed.
I am not alarmed.
I have met him before.
We oft have locked in struggles between seasons,
I have fended off his frozen arrows
Beaten back his snow filled storms.
Broken his sword of ice and forced surrender.
I have left his broken spirit
To wither in the pristine fields of spring.
Knowing that his soul has not been vanquished.
On the morrow, the ghost of winter will return
And I, like a worthy foe,
Will wait to challenge him again
Bob Quigley
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2011
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