In the silent grip of winter’s chill,
The world lies hushed beneath its cloak,
A frozen breath, a quiet thrill,
Where life and death entwine and soak.

The snowflakes dance in gentle flight,
Each one a ghostly, fleeting breath,
Falling softly, pure and white,
In winter’s embrace, the touch of death.

Beneath the ice, the rivers sleep,
Their once wild song now silent, still,
In the shadows where memories creep,
Winter weaves its cold, somber will.

Yet in this realm of frost and fade,
A quiet beauty whispers near,
For in the chill where life is laid,
A promise of spring waits to appear.