Silent land

Silent land
           under harsh frost
grass brittle underfoot
           all surfaces slip
and slide
           the cruel east wind
raucous in our ears
           our voices hoarse
as we struggle
           to converse before
falling back
           into silence

Winter can be
           a bare place
intemperate unforgiving
           the dark night skies
no consolation
           pricked
with the dead light
           from distant stars
All this without love
           would be true misery

John Lyons