Do not be bitter when I come for you,

For I must come like a cold December wind,

Dreaded, as is a winter’s day,

Nevertheless, I must descend.

Think not of me as malice, a thief in the night,

But as the hand that gathers fallen leaves,

Homecoming, a soldiers final fight.

A promise kept, a bittersweet release.

Though shadows lengthen with each step I take,

And fear May whisper tales of endless night,

remember, too, the solace of the dark,

The hush that blankets weary, flickering light.

Fear not, for there is no sting in my embrace,

Only The silence of dreams untold.

Let go of grasping fingers, earthly hunger,

And rest within the comfort of the cold.