Student Submission Winner – J.T. Cripps III


Winter’s air, so thin and dry,

Whose fleeting sun soon will die.

A scarlet stroke across the sky

Reflects upon thy mirrors eye.

Lost, now, the echo of Summer’s cry


O’er the hills and swamping the trees

Winter’s coat lye atop weeping canopies


And Winter’s winds hold no contrite

For those who seek their fallen light.

You ne’er escape that reluctant sight

For dead the sun and long the night.

And these accounts found great in spite

Of how northbound birds now taketh flight.

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