Death comes in the winter When all is grey & white & cold Whether stealthily or raucously Gnawing or pouncing Prowling for entrails Frigid Final Leaving empty beds and empty arms Reminders of the empty holes In the long-empty hearts It’s icy fingers creep along the soul Waking long-dead musings
…they buried them in the spring…
Yet for him No grave will be dug For some winters never End.
Originally published 6th Dec 2021 | Edited 20th Feb 2025 It was in the winter that I realized we had started the death watch as my father was being consumed from the inside out by cancer. The first line was borrowed from a friend & poet with permission. “They buried them in the spring” is a reference to something I had read during my college days regarding one of the great plagues in history (I forget which one) where the deceased could not be buried until the ground had thawed sufficiently to dig their graves. My father was cremated so “no grave”.