Waiting For Winter Poem by Mark Heathcote

Waiting for winter
Is like waiting for a transient prince
A temporary spider's web, that stretches over life.
It's a pail of water that can't be drawn easily or safely.
It can't be touched by your lips,
Not without it cutting you down, with a slaying kiss.

Waiting for winter
Is a wooden flute played at the break-of-day
It gets into your head and spoons your brains away.
Makes of your heart a schoolboys sleigh,
That one emptied that had your days numbered
Like a champagne cork exploding.

Waiting for winter
Shall have you exploring the dark sinking in the snow
Forest creatures run an