here I am sitting
awaiting inspiration
nothing is written

one last spit of wind
winter blusters to the last
the rain is laughing

belligerent clouds
bellowing furiously
a rose quakes with thirst

distilled grain, vermouth
martinis in small glasses
heaven, with a twist

snow blankets her prey
the hawk silently observes
feathered silhouette

mist covered windows
gaze upon the wintry vista
the spirit slumbers

slate grey sky forebodes

seeking the solace of warmth

martini, ice cold