Winter, by John Sinclair McIntyre

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Winter’s chill is here again with frost and fog and freezing rain,
Though frost will mostly bring warm sun when afternoons at last do come.
Robins red, do Winter bring, while early morning magpies sing
To brighten dullness of the day, as kookaburras laugh away
In groups up high on local trees, or road-side poles on cross-arm tees.

Outdoor work is not the go, with tree-top cloud and temps so low,
Thus book-work and internal chores require the days be spent indoors
With warming fire or heater’s glow, to take the chill off temps below
The levels which we most enjoy, when costly fires we don’t employ
To keep us free from Winter’s chill, while temps so low are with us still.

We shudder in the morning breeze as round the block we work our knees,
So aches and pains in them defray and rheumatoid is kept away.
Then back into a heated room to free us from the wintery gloom
That tends to keep the mind depressed, as into warmer clothes we’re dressed,
And hope for sunny Spring-time days, to keep the Winter blues away.

Now August’s here, the days are longer, but Winter’s grip is getting stronger,
With single figures many days, and mornings dank with foggy haze
That hangs about till at least noon, and often joined by rainfall’s tune
Upon our roofs and gardens green, where native birds alight to preen
Their plumage multi-hued and bright, to us a feeling of delight.

But in due time, Spring will be here, and gone should be the days so drear,
And sun will meekly poke around the edge of clouds, as from the ground
We hope to feel its warming rays, and shed the layers of Winter days
We were obliged to wear so long, while Spring was slow to come along
Its stellar path around the globe, at last to land on our abode.