In the quiet hush of winter’s breath,
The world succumbs to a gentle death.
Frosted whispers on the wind do ride,
As nature’s secrets softly hide.

The trees stand bare, their branches stark,
Against a sky so cold and dark.
Snowflakes fall like silent tears,
Mourning the passing of the years.

Ice-bound rivers cease to flow,
Frozen in time, no life to show.
A crystal shroud upon the earth,
Marks the season’s solemn rebirth.

Yet within the stillness, hope does lie,
For spring will come, as time goes by.
From death’s cold grip, life will renew,
And winter’s tale, we will outgrew.