Winter Bites

by Warren Paul Glover

Wearing a tabard of blood
the robin stands as winter’s warrior;
watchful as the snow serpent snakes its way
across land no longer green,
her frost fangs plunging deep into the skin of the earth.

Casting her spell, winter bewitches,
hugging as tightly and close as the death of strangled light;
her kiss as cold and sharp as cracked crystal.

As that pagan plant, the vampire mistletoe,
insinuates and flatters her way into the homes
and hopes of a thousand Christmas fools,
holly stabs like a pang of guilt.

And all the while the white blanket covers the ground,
coaxing the land to sleep.