The Four Seasons: Iambic Pentameter
Winter: The South Wind
How would I dare seek to speak this fragile
silence, seductive in its promises?
The night does not stir, and I with it show,
the south wind sighs sweetest of all the four.
As one, we take to the shadows; though one
of us the shadows leave. I wish too soon
that I could flee with the sun, but when she
has chosen, I am left to hold my peace.
The day is jumpy; something we share two;
our every breath compelled by the night. If
fire is this bright, I would burn with it.
The flames burst alight, to break this silence.
And between us three, first I turn away,
my careful silence shielding me from two,
though with that look from you my king will fall;
It always does. I like to lose, for you.
Sometimes I win, this peace between us too.
Though counting becomes meaningless with you.
I watch your subtle hands; you play this game
so smooth, my stance disarmed with cheerful ease.
I think I would dare to speak this spoken
silence, silent in its lies. The night does
not stir, since I with it show, that the south
wind is the bitterest of all the four.