Winter

When winter's iron fist
Closes upon the land,
Freezes the landscape
With an icy hand
And trees stretch
Barren branches to the sky
In silent supplication
And flora dies or rests
In hibernation
With whirling snow
Across the northern nation,
I stare at frozen windows
In my lonely room
Feeling my age
And my impending doom.

It's then, I close my eyes
And wander in my mind
To southern isles
Where golden beaches
Meet with azure skies
And palms sway in the wind
Each warm and sunny day
And colors reign,
Not dark and gray,
My place of dreams
To spend life's stay,
Where my heart surrenders
To my imaginary paradise
And tropical splendors...

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2007 Alfred Charasz