The man in the moon is smiling at me again;
His full disc face and his icy grin.
A cool mint breeze chicken skins my surface.
Comes deep from the winters lungs with a freezing purpose.
All summer i yearned for the flames of the soul rising fire.
Now my wood is all burn’t, and extinguished all my desire.
My longest days seem to have approached in the shortest one.
If sleep was my steak, it would be well underdone.
Now we have dug our selves to the bottom of winters hole.
At least we are looking up,
with still a long way to go.
© Deon Heemskerk 2013