The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.
I pray this winter be gentle and kind - a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.
That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...
Summer softens lines that winter cruelly shows.
I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.
Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.