A Tyrannt Returned
Listen.
Can you hear the wind?
No longer does it whistle and whisper,
but bites and burns to the bone.
And when it does cry out,
it does not cry of hopes on sun,
or of summer flings.
But it cries out a parley of a coming battle.
The battlegraound is adorned,
in coloured carnage,
as icy breath claims its first kills.
The tyrant is back.
And we will kneel,
weak before him.
Can you hear the wind?
No longer does it whistle and whisper,
but bites and burns to the bone.
And when it does cry out,
it does not cry of hopes on sun,
or of summer flings.
But it cries out a parley of a coming battle.
The battlegraound is adorned,
in coloured carnage,
as icy breath claims its first kills.
The tyrant is back.
And we will kneel,
weak before him.
♠ ♠ ♠
A short poem about the return of winter after the end of summer.This poem is a sequel to "Rulers of the World," found under my "Poetry" tab at the top. :)
Enjoy!