Winter Up High

Upon the North, where winter holds its sway,
The frigid nights descend with solemn grace,
A silent, diamond dust along the way,
And moonbeams carve the shadows of the place.
The wind, a ghost that whispers through the pines,
Doth chill the very breath that leaves the lip,
The ground is bound by frosted, silver lines,
And stars, like scattered jewels, their vigil keep.
The long dark hours demand a sheltered rest,
Where firelight dances on the hearth's warm stones,
And weary souls are welcomed to the nest,
To chase the biting cold from blood and bones.
Yet in this chill, a stark, pure beauty lies,
Reflected in the vast and endless skies.

Vinn Black