The Throat of Winter
O the throat of winter is upon us

The barren barley fields refuse to sway

Before the Husky hag of early darkness

In her hoods of snowy grey.

Winter winter winter

Are you but a servant of the bad one.

Lo the frozen blue birds in the belfries

The bluebells in their hearts are surely prey

Unto the grasping bats-wing of the winter pincer

Hoods of snowy grey.