
My body thrills to the icy pain of these Winter days,
A challenge to my sun-thirsty appetite.
I feel the hardness of the soil at my feet,
The deafening touch of the wind at my ears.
I see the last cobwebs of the sun-worshippers season
Sailing airily away to some bluer seas.
I hear the crystal call of a solitary bird
Which stimulates my soul into sudden appreciation.
I feel the dull pain of life-giving rain at my neck
And see the gas-grey ghosts of Summer clouds,
Like funeral shrouds, mingling with the mist.
Trees stand like corpses coffined in the pin-pricking wind.
Elisabeth Derwent Bayet