Bramblepoint [BWP] Frosty Winds Made Moan

Over the week the cold would grow,
The grounds would freeze and thicken with snow,
The dancing, dervish winds would blow
And make the mortal shudder.

O'er land and sea the hallowed howl
of icy zephyr winds most foul
would cause the birds and beasts to scowl
and curses they would utter.

The sharp and biting chill of frost,
might make it seem all hope is lost,
and seek its toll and seize its cost
from those too old or weak.

A snowy blanket of moon-drunk white,
a parent's dread and child's delight,
would thicken and grow each passing night
a beautiful cape most bleak.

Those who fed on grass and leaf
pawing through snow found no relief
would leave the lands in disbelief
in search of greener pasture

But those with claws, teeth and fangs
fall prey to growing hunger pangs
and cry out in feral, starved harangues
in advent of disaster.

Written by @Niamh