Oh fickle mistress, Time!

Well, a whole year's passed and I haven't even tried to post a jot onto this blog.
Dimitri, now aged 10 months, is largely the reason. So I haven't been unproductive, just not been productive in the literary sense.

Not entirely true. I have cobbled together two ballad-type texts. When I unearth them I will post them here.
I wrote them as songs to be sung, less poetry per se.

I have resolved to just make baby steps in my return back into the realm of scribing.
I don't think I lost the Muse in one day and in one fell swoop, so I don't think I'll be
gaining her trust in one go either.

Below is an offering:
Whiteout

If death were water he'd be silent snow
A suffocating airless soft but cruel pillow
Sapping oxygen from breath, 
Stinging eye and mouth
Silencing for e'er perhaps 
A drunken layabout.

Venture out prepared and wrapped
Wary be of the snow ye must
For it's seemingly gentle feathery touch
Can cause fracture in the most robust

Achingly beautiful though it is
Do not be easily seduced
Don't venture over pond and ice
In open field don't be ambushed.

For once, a beleaguered little maid
Had in tiredness lain in snow
But for a moment she thought she laid
But in a moment her heart did slow

Her breath was deep at first, and strong
Her hands were warm and begloved so neat
'Gainst the wind her bonnet tight
But gnawing frost her neck did bite

Upon her cheek crystal sweat clung
Upon her brow and bosom too
Into her bones the chill did creep
Into her skin through cape and shoe.

As she wilted and bent within
Paper flakes were sharp and fearce
The freeze grew strong and vehement
Her eyes so tired the ice wind did pierce.