Bittersweet

Peering outside my window, a winter eve, I examine a scene quite picturesque, Howling wind, tearing at the shingled roof, threatens to overwhelm the small cottage where I reside, Drifting snow, flakes like down-feathers, flutters across my view, Creaking pines, laden and bent, sway in the majestic fury, Warming flames, blazing in the iron grate, radiate warmth in the small room.

Admiring the perfection of winters design, I venture outside the safety of my perspective, Desiring to partake of the beauty, I don a coat and leave my abode, Failing to foresee the violence of the tempest, I recoil from winters harsh grip, Clutching me with its icy embrace, the wind gusts around me and robs me of breath and hat, Hurrying back to my sanctuary, I escape the whirling torrents in the refuge of my home.

Realizing my folly, I returned to my silent spectating, my desire to experience the wintry beauty extinguished, Waking the following morn, I rise and behold a pristine sight, Glistening, radiant snow piled in gleaming drifts glaring across my view, Remembering the night before and the beautiful yet deadly tempest, I conclude the inevitable, Winters chilling beauty, duplicitous and deceitful, is ever bittersweet.