Winter Wears Its Crown Poem by Ruta Mohapatra

It is the mid of winter
The chill is still in the air
And the fog still hugs
The tree tops afar

The old bones rattle
The skins go dry
And the warmth flies
Out the little cracks and holes

The sun looks dull
With a watery hue
The wind is full
Of the tales from the north

Of homes made of ice
Of frozen rivers
Of white furry creatures
Darting on the snow

But the little flowers sprouting
On the boughs of Mango trees
Whisper the change in the air
That is soon to come