The Whisperings Of Winter Poem by Preston Simmons

Through the hollow mountains
The whisperings of winter are heard.
Beyond the mounted cold
Lies a cottage against the stone.
A gelid whispering takes flight from his perch
And is swept upon the wind.
He soars through canyons laced with snow
And upon the wind he was swept
Up to my father's porch.
Between midnight's fog and streetlights
The frigid fingers found
The window
Where my heart slept beneath my chest.

I awoke to shutters clashing;
The north wind howling,
Minutes passing.
I was pressed by an arctic matter,
As my pace of breath began to suffer.
My eyes turned dark,
My lips a shade
Of ghastly blue.

The thought that no man could save me,
With my quivering countenance displayed
Was beyond my mortal measure.
The frosty foe forsook my state
And fled out to the court.
There he raced across the yard,
And to the glimmering lawn.
It is here he traveled through morning's mist
Into the weary dawn.