A HOLD ON THE SOUL
Cold is the master of us all
It falls apon the large and small
Its servants wind, water and dark
Possess earth once it's passed the mark
Where Autumn, plunged in Winter's white,
Loses its fire - colour fades
Crisp flakes drape landscapes, coat the night
Serene, soft hills cover grassblades
Cold's minions creep up on the living,
Their lust for life, all they are giving
Is taken from them - they clutch air
Dampness extinguishes their flair
Upon their weary way to work
They shudder, hearing winter's call,
Cold grips their souls with an icy smirk –
It is the master of us all.
© George H.E. Koehler, 1985 (taken from the Travelogues poem cycle, from Haunted Lives)
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