Ms. Winter enters regally
as Duchess of the Calendar.
She has a presence quite unlike
those seasons which preceded her.

That sweet perfume, the scent of spruce,
the snowflakes sprinkled in her hair,
those ivory petals 'round her ears.
She's elegance extr'ordinaire.

Remote, aloof appears this dame,
a cool, standoffish air, hauteur.
DiVinci chiseled marble face,
spellbinding eyes a pale azure.

I can't deny she's beautiful,
bewitching, quite provocative.
But this gal lacks that core of warmth
for which there's no alternative.

Her presence makes me ill at ease.
Oh, I prefer the gaiety
of Summer, Spring, especially Fall,
not Winter's stark solemnity.