The Long Cold Winter
When every leaf has left the tree
and all is bleak and cold,
along comes winter's brittle sticks
with stories all untold
of snow and icicles dripping
like tears that weep from eaves,
of winds and storms a-gripping
at the heart of man that grieves.
'Thou can't be here to chill my bones
and think nothing about it.'
And winter answers a sly retort,
' I can. And don't you doubt it.'
When the heart of man comes to terms
with what he must endure,
he settles down and stays inside
with a cup of tea to pour.
Edwina Reizer's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (The Long Cold Winter by Edwina Reizer )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Ralph Waldo Emerson
(1803 - 1882)
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