The Mists of Winter

When all the world is swathed in mist,

Though dawn’s well lost to day,

The bitter chill still streaks the air

For winter’s on its way.

When all the song birds of the sky

Are hiding in deep boughs

Of slumbering trees, cloaked in mist,

That sunlight cannot rouse.

When darkness wraps its chilly hands

Around the sun in flight

And hurries it down from the sky,

Reclaiming it for night,

Then it’s too late to curse the cold,

For winter time is here;

And with it comes the mist that shrouds

The dark half of the year.