Winter Moods Poem by Barry Middleton

high on a hill the dead men sleep
and spring is far from view
the trees are dry and nearly bare
the chill contains a clue

winter's breath is coming soon
as seasons have their way
the colors all are fading now
the sky is bleached and gray

a blanket soon will cover death
with snow of purest white
the moon reflected on the graves
as comfort to the night

and those of us below that hill
will quietly light a fire
and bolt and latch the widow tight
to trap our last desire