The Lomond lies in winter’s keep,
A cauldness clingin’ hard and deep.
Yet cracks o’ thaw begin tae show,
As winter’s grip turns soft and slow.
Winter’s Last Spells ower the Lomond
Tag: Cold and Light
Winter Bite
The winter bite gangs through the glen,
A cauld that nips at beasts and men.
The wind skirls wild ower frozen brae,
And steals the warmth o’ licht and day.
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