An overcast day and an overdose of Kipling (can there be such a thing) last week prompted this. You might recognize some resemblance to a sonnet in the overall structure but with an extra quatrain included. It has been submitted to the Goodreads poetry contest here for kicks. There are a lot of people on there who are both far better poets and more serious about their poetry than I am. I hope it proves entertaining for you.
By Byron Gordon
Bleak gray crowds the sky and cold iron the air,
Bitter damp touches bone and hushes all who lie,
This grim November morn, in their winter lair.
Even the wind scarcely dares to utter lonely sighs.
Overwhelming silence, frost cold, pervasive
Broken only by ravens eery cawing
And the gentle jawing of droplets invasive
Droplets, ploplets, pliping, ploping from ice thawing.
The only movement, branches bearing dying leaves
Brilliant colors faded to stolid browns.
They fall as they perish, cluttering the eaves
Drawing out those within, wearing stolid frowns.
Drawing out, draw them out, out into the cold,
Out into the cold and out into the damp,
Where icy rungs on ladders hung await the bold
While the timid watch and bravely work the lamp.
Look hail! All hail! Winter’s grim arrival
Mab’s here, all hail, life is now survival.