I walk alone, my soul frozen,
Like this white, endless night.
And in the silence, vast and deep,
Only the fading echoes weep.

The wind, a ghost, begins to keen,
Through barren branches, stark and lean.
It steals the breath I try to keep,
And scatters memories in its sweep——
Dead leaves, like hopes I could not reap,
Now dance in darkness, lost and cheap.
No warmth remains, no fire to leap,
Just shadows where the cold does creep.

The snow falls soft, a shroud so deep,
On promises I could not keep.
Each flake, a tear the heavens weep,
On dreams now buried in their sleep.
It muffles sound where secrets heap,
And covers wounds that ache and seep.
My footsteps mark a path so steep,
A vigil only I will keep.

The moon, a spectre, cold and pale,
Casts light like ice on hill and dale.
It shows the world in shades of grey,
Where joy has long since fled away.
The frozen river, hard as glass,
Reflects a past that will not pass——
The face once loved, now lost, alas,
Beyond my reach, behind the glass.

The wind returns with sharper spite,
To snatch the echoes in the night.
It whips the snow in swirling dread,
Around this path where hope lies dead.
The pines stand sentinel and groan,
Like mourners chilled down to the bone.
No star appears, no friendly stone,
I face this emptiness alone.

Oh, cruel the season, sharp the air,
That strips the spirit bare, in despair.
The crows above on black wings wheel,
Their mocking cries the soul can feel.

The frost has bound the earth so fast,
This bitter chill will ever last.
The weeping echo fades to past,
Stolen by the icy blast.
No sound remains, no sigh, no gasp,
Just winter’s unforgiving clasp.