It's not that the winter is longer
Although it seems so
Its grip on the soul is stronger
Harder to endure
The consolation of days is
Still available
Certainly – the chatter of friends
But heard more faintly
We grow old; the night gives relief
Coveted, not feared
It's dangerous now. It has
Death in its embrace
Each year we leave the bright half with
A little less hope –
Fall into the dark, not knowing
If we will come out
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