Midwinter croons
its keening song

cold cracks bone
slap's sleet chapped

cheeks:

& with the snow
the landscape bows

to silence.

I’m hearing ‘alto’
in the trees

sweet symphony
as rain’s fingers
 
tap dusted glass.

Midwinter conducts
its own choir

red robin in the
churchyard yew

the howl of fox
under silver moon

like fickle love
it changes key

it leaves us
stripped of

certitude

till church bells
clamour curfew.