Not till March

In this town,
Of slush and sludge,
Problems arise,
With each new grudge,

No one is happy,
All hide themselves,
From the frozen beast,
Leaving alone all the Christmas bells,

All seasons joys are lost,
All reminders left outside,
Left to gather frost,
Not for us to go outside,

All of Christmas reminders pass,
Only the biting cold,
Staying so long,
It’s soon to get old,

Not till March,
Does it decline,
Keeping the sun at bay,
Barely ever to shine,

For now the streets are filled with slush,
Full of dirt and grime,
This is how it shall stay,
For a very, very long time...