it freezes- all across a soundless sky
the birds go home. the governing dark's begun:
the steadfast dark that waits not for a sun;
the undefeated enemy, the chill
that shall benumb the voiceful earth at last,
is master of our moment, and has bound
the viewless wind it-self. There is no sound.
it freezes. every friendly stream is fast.
it freezes; and the graven twigs are still.
excerpted from [month of] january by hilaire belloc