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The Seven Despairs of Winter

The Seven Despairs of Winter

Millie Gould


The first despair of winter

Is the mournful welcome

Of sharp, icicle teeth, searching for prey –

A lake captured, silently,

Its spirit trapped

By the murderous ice.


The second despair

Is the deep hollowness

Of the empty, bleak, winter scene, lonely and distraught,

Happy smiles killed,

Once warm hearts

Now frozen.


And the third despair

Is the mournful welcome

Of the crisp crunch of snow, like shattered glass,

Cutting into the innocent flesh,

Crushing your emotions flat,

Sunken into sorrow.


The fourth despair

Is the misconception of the snow,

Thinking it’s a warm huddle of cotton wool, but it being a deadly spell.

Then the air freezes

Into a blank canvas

No painter could ever express.


And the fifth despair

Is the mournful welcome

Of dismal clouds, and the slow goodbye of faint sunlight,

The darkness coming

Buttoning up the light

In funeral black.


And the sixth despair

Is the drained feeling,

The mocking of your spirit by children’s angels in the snow.

The merry screams of darkness

As the evening draws in,

All jet black.


And the seventh sorrow

Is the mournful welcome

Of the night, as the moon rises and lets the souls free,

As the year packs its bags

Ready to hibernate –

We let the earth rest.


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