It's Still Life

Winter Sips

It’s the season’s sour face,
slowly moulding, held and
cured in curdled mud.
Those crisp leaves dredged
with frost, soon to dilute
and dissolve to dolce compost.
Winter sips, an enophile,
drunk on rain and sleet
and hail, while I, who
feels pinched as old mutton,
waits for a robin’s song.

dVerse: a Recipe Poem using cookery terms.