Dusk, Dark, Cold

By David Roth

© 29^th November, 2011

It’s dusk

in a bleak November sky

and December’s standing by

but I swear I don’t know why

the darkness comes

to a tiny room

where a single soul

waits the coming gloom

with a heart that’s empty

as a tomb

alone at dusk.

It’s dark

on a moonless autumn eve

winter’s chill begins to weave

what the faithful still believe

and the snow flies fast

on a wind-swept field

over shadows cast

never giving way

ever forced to yield

to the frozen breath

that Decembers wield

in the dark.

Cold,

near frozen

chilled,

near froze

still becomes

as stealth has chose

bleak the sullen

dark falls close

when the ‘ber of Novem

stirs to Decem

ber

at dusk

t’ward night

where it’s cold.