Let the arms of winter embrace you
Holding your knees up to your chest as he meets you
In the snow that you so wished would thaw, the ice that leaves it’s ruinous tracks disguised
He takes little but leaves much. The pines of trees caked in white, great firs eclipse the blinding sun with their height – the only source of warmth in this cold desert
Bitter winds whip from the west, with darkness in the early hours
Some never see the light, inside most of the day running a 9-5 on 4 hours’ sleep
Spirits run low; tides ebb as the moon controls our every step
By Samuel Fawcett
Parisian Poetry 