By: Jeffrey Subramanian
Father – winter is here, the air is cold,
Snow fights with sun to rule the barren land,
The landscape is a shroud, the sky is bland,
The mountains, silent – the slick black ice, bold.
The evening sky turns yellow, red, then green –
Students walk home with gloves, boots, scarves, and hoods –
The twigs are empty, all the autumn’s goods
Have fallen away, despoiled themselves, and seen
Death first-hand. In a lonely, cluttered room
I write to thee, enticing thee to stay
With me until I reach the final doom,
And shame or glory makes my endless way –
For I intend to stay upon the loom
Until the sisters snip me into Day.