Winter's Warriors Poem by pauline miller

The winter night grows cold
As wind and cloud join the earth
Spattering the sky's water across the cottage door.
Inside, the old man lays down his tin edged cane
And retires to his straw mattress drawing his quilt around him.
As the candle flickers to an end, his eyes grow heavy
from the glow of the embers.
Fragrance from the burning pine cones
Fills the room and soon he sleeps.
With the dawn come the warriors of winter
Beating at his door, but he does not rise
And the brown withered leaves from summer
Come to pay their last respects.