Cold

The deepening cold
stretches its thin fingers
south from the land of fire
past the islands of sheep

Breathing its chill winds
over the ancient rocks
of the heathery isle
a snow flake drifts

More of them follow
swirling calmly
in the lights of the
town and beyond

The lighthouse blinks
but its beam now lost
As the wind slowly rises
a blizzard comes in

Dawn breaks
and the sun rises late
showing a blanket of white
stretching far, far south