Winter

Like icicles it rises,
So chilling and lonely.
It's merciless,
Yet doesn't expect anything.

It grows, filling your bones,
Filling your mind.
It strikes when you least expect,
It's really here.

Even as it comes and goes,
There's something uncomfortable about it.
And though it's there every year,
You never get used to it.

It spreads like sickness,
Killing off many.
So crisp and deadly,
Winter.