Friday, December 07, 2012


When the bear is at its blackest
And the night has lost its moon
When the wind is at its keenest
And the ice has lost its tune

When you wake up in the darkest place
To the touch of winter’s breath
Then the spirit of the mine has passed
And its calling card is death

1 comment:

Russell 'C.J.' Duffy said...

Rather Grimm that last line yet still another lovely poem.