I love to write mysterious poems. Here’s a favourite from my second book, Midnight Forest.
Winter
Winter crept
through the whispering wood,
hushing fir and oak;
crushed each leaf and froze each web -
but never a word he spoke.
Winter prowled
by the shivering sea,
lifting sand and stone;
nipped each limpet silently -
and then moved on.
Winter raced
down the frozen stream,
catching at his breath;
on his lips were icicles,
at his back was death.
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