report of woe

the day builds, broods
the lilac sky thickens, cloud
masses, grows to purple
it is pent-up, waits
the release of its content:
storm, rain

the trees flutter, nervous,
all is quiet, cool air
moves, knows its
purpose:  herald
of snows

they are a distance
away, wait
in the wings, for 
our orb to move
to the appointed place
and time swings with it

cold descends, black skies
freezing air, frost, ice
and snow - at the year's
end it will come

and it will take
people with it
when it goes

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