Bleak Winter's Day

There's a desolate grey gloom, on this bleak winter's day
Where in the breathless oppression, there's no other way
Through the withering woods, without snow, rain, or hail
But as lifeless as death itself, with its lost souls, in a veil

It's immovable, but creeping, it's the shroud of the dead
Obscuring the empyrean, with the amorphous, instead
It's icy cold (if not bitter) and in the trees, it's concealed
And on a bleak winter's day, it has an old power to wield

On a path in the woods, amid hues, of brown and green
Are silhouettes and shadows, but the shades are unseen
A sentinel crow caws, to implore, the ghosts of the grey
To accompany a stray stranger, on this bleak winter's day