In Thrall (Poetry)

Winter has me in its grip
immobile — brought down to my knees
by winds that worry — cut and whip
I hunch defenceless as the trees.

I’m stricken — paralyzed by cold
my blood like sap denied the sun
lies frozen in this nerveless hold
while days are dim and nights long-run...

It’s chill outside and chill within
a creeping apathy ensures
I cannot stir — all thoughts die thin
just hibernating hope endures

the passage of an ice-age state
those wasted weeks and weeks in thrall
for prison is about the wait
then Spring arrives and frees us all.