Winter Was

When willful wonder wilts,

whither will we walk?

Withering wanderlust wanes

while wanton waylaying waxes.

Wayward Winter wails woefully,

wearily,

white with wily wisps

which whisper,

"Why?"

Wrongful whataboutism will want,

want,

want.

Whatever!

Whichever way we wander,

we will wade wholesomely.

While wracked with wicked,

weaselly warmongering,

we will wear willpower

wrought with worldly works,

whetted with wild wakening.

Woven within wrinkled wreckage,

wonderment withholds wizened wings,

waiting,

waiting...

Whomsoever witnesses weirdness willingly

will warm within.

Watch.