Writers 
THE WINTER ❄️ ONE
I sit alone in my hut,
Feeling hurt
From the last hunt.
No catch, a fail.
The fire burns low,
While the cold winds blow.
Snow covers the ground,
And silence is all around.
I hear the wolves in the distance,
Their howls breaking through the silence.
And I ask myself, in this winter cold abode,
Why fail?
Nothing I didn't do to catch the bull,
But yet it made me a fool.
I looked, saw a pool,
Then I tried to pull.
But even a fish
Is better than my soul.
My hands are cold,
My body is tired,
And the little fire before me
Is slowly losing its glow.
I wonder if tomorrow
Will bring me another chance,
Or if this winter
Will take away what little hope remains.
Now in my hut,
Nothing to do.
The night approaches,
Yet it seems like
I am a fool.
A fool for not pulling
In a bull.
I head to the rest;
They always pass the test.
They come in with bulls,
Goats, and fishes, up to a whale.
Their laughter fills the settlement,
Their fires burn bright,
While I sit with my failure
And watch the coming night.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll rise again,
Perhaps I'll find what I seek.
But tonight, the winter feels stronger,
And my heart feels weak.
It's winter, and I think
My hope will wither.
