Winter

The breeze blows softly
fearful of the large oak trees
whose leaves fall and dance
to the mulch littered earth.

Clouds grey but white
cover the less than
brilliant afternoon sun.

Ice crunches under the
horse's heavy hooves,
trotting faster, faster
yearning for a warm stall.

The inn nears and fire lanterns
cast radiant red-yellow
shadows.

The hard wooden door
creaks open and
out spills the rapture from within
ringing through the cold
outside haze.

Someone offers something warm
the aroma itself is soothing.
Heavy but sweet it rests on
the back of the throat

Slowly, carefully sipping,
shocked as the liquid
splashes on the tongue.

It is bitter- sweet,
tangy and smooth.
Warming the insides as
it drips down into the very soul.

After such a travel through
endless white sheets,
This is the place where
all tired men come to rest.

All slouching, exhaling
content sighs, and
watching as the sky
turns from dull orange
to midnight black.

Drifting with the flakes
of diamonds are our worries
Falling
Falling
Falling...