Winter

Children rush into his arms
and frolic with him when he comes.
Their naive innocence blinding them,
to what I see.
 
I see is his true nature.
While they run into his cold hands I fear a monster.
The children dance and make snow angels,
caring about nothing save their amusement.
 
I know however what he does to life.
As he creeps forward life slowly drains out.
At first it's just a chill.
 
But then more warmth drains out
suddenly, plants, trees, all life is barren and shivering to the core.
Their nerves freezing until the last of their life fades away.
 
This, his true nature that of a murderer
His name, Winter.