It is winter solstice this very day
Nights now shorten, nature does portray
While days lengthen through months May
And June and weeks pass away
It’s an annual turning point
A seasonal juncture, a seasonal joint
A slot in time set not to disappoint
Rather an insertion to bless, to anoint
It’s merely a half year’s completion
Yet some curse this very harsh season
Could it be nature’s way of treason?
Why the harsh cold? Is there a reason?
As the North pole tilts away from the sun
We can learn
