A poem I wrote on a melancholy day in mid-December of 2013.
The leaves have fallen on the ground,
It's the season that is so renowned
For the hibernating bear.
Soon we will start to see more snow
Flying in the air.
A cold reminder yet still somehow
More scenic is Times Square.
No more will the sun shine down
With all it's golden splendor.
Indoors will move the sidewalk clown
And the market vendor.
The birds have left upon their paths
We wish that we could fly.
But we just sit and take warm baths
And bake our holiday pie.
The drab grey slush and pure white flakes
Will soon be all you see.
The weather tries to raise the stakes
But I think we all agree
That with the cold and biting breeze
Comes a certain pleasure.
We can sit back, relax at ease
And the scene, from inside, we treasure.
So when the season starts in full,
Just try to remember
That while you're wearing heavy wool
It won't always be December.