The Winter of My Discontent by Mike Williams 01/19/2016 @ 4:37 P.M.

As the sun grows weak and mild,  
The days shorten and hours spent.  
The trees are baren of their leaves,  
A chill upon the air came and went.  

The skies darken and cloud over,  
And shadows now hardly loom.  
I huddle close to the fire in my chair,  
And keep solemnly to a single room.  

My bones ache under a blanket,  
And visible the warmth of breath.  
Cold and shivering my fingers curl,  
As if I'm close to catch my death.  

No company to entertain or visitor,  
I alone in the silence keep still.  
The frozen iron of snow and ice,  
Come to test my strength and will.  

I feel every ounce of bitter cold,  
Through my flesh cracked and wrent.  
Dire and dreary the season knows,  
The winter of my discontent.