A Sonnet for the Opposite Season

The leaves that sway in summer breeze are gone.

A chill has come and settled in the air.

The hills of green on which the sun had shone

have turned to brown, and shiver in dispair.

The birds that sang are silent in the trees.

Their nests have long since fallen to the ground.

And sleep, and burrow, to escape the freeze

that all the woodlands know will soon be found.

Grey clouds with whispery promises of snow

swirl gently through the neverending sky.

And sunset floats away and steals its glow

too early, letting darkness silence cries.

Though it is true that summer comes again

Winter guards his months well in his den.

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