The night is razor cold and bleak,
Through the elms the gray storm passes,
Harries leaves and reeds and grasses.
I am weak.
Weak as a fragile dried out weed
Above the frozen lake at dusk,
Iím just an empty hollow husk,
And with old age my hopes have thinned,
Each hope that starts it seems to stall,
And like a house of card will fall,
Now winter storms, without delay,
Come with the icy, killing snow
And like the leaves that fly I blow