Winter through the panes

As the dark grows in late
Afternoon dealt its last hand
The frost begins its reign
My fingers hesitantly hang
Over a page that is blank and waiting

An eye and a half paired
With the vocals of my thoughts
Peered beyond the window panes
The trees holding tight against
The bites of the coming night
Hanging moss like witch's hair
Clinging like a marsupiul
Above this frozen frame of still
An empty sky of navy dawning
Starless rolling fields of night
Illude to deliver the sense of cloud

The moon is weak with cresent hook
Makes for poor light for these spent eyes
I thank the evening for filling the page