It is disappointing

It is disappointing

The lay of the land

As the cold north wind

Blows its icy breath

Across a beaten earth

Old Oaks whisper among themselves

Of ancient days

A time of magic and idyll

When the world embraced

A Song of Summer

The lilt of a breeze

The promise of a change

For the better

Before sad shadows

Cast a sorrowed cloak

Dampening the fire

The slow crawl of the dead

Dried old bones

Breaking daylight

Into splinters

Shards of hollowed straw

Wind bourne needles

Stilettos, spiking delicate skin

Prompting a retreat into shelter

Old souls watching from the deep

Waiting it out

Primed to survive

Until summer

Finally arrives

To revive the barren field

And withered stump

Nothing to perceive

As fortunate

Nothing to deceive the senses

The discontent

Is more than a moment

It is a lifelong torment

For the malcontent

A sorry tale

For the wailing claimant

Hoping to avoid a revenant

For another year

Of delayed gratification

When will they learn

Brigadoon is more than a fable

It is a promise

A memory of better times

And warmer climes

Before the winter apocalypse

Stole the dream away

For another hundred years