The cold crept up.
It surprised us all.
Like a tiger hunting.
It caught us all.

It took us prisoner,
in its icy grasp.
It held us tight
in its frosty wrath.

From now till the shadow leaves
it will linger.
It’s beautiful and terrible.
The icy storm beast.

Yet once it’s past
we’ll wait for it again,
for we love it and hate it.
The cold wintry thing.

Written by my granddaughter, Phoebe Hallberg. She is twelve years old.
Image from Pixaby.com