Why bemoan the winter...

And when winter comes
We bemoan the chill
The enwrapping cold
That enfolds ever closer
Encircling wind
Icy fingers tearing away
Every shred of feeling
Cold numbness in its stead

Still we curse
The deadening of sensation
The loss of touch.

Hope for warmer days
Thawed fingers
Unfrozen toes
Rushing gushing blood
All too keen
To feel the unfelt
(And so forgotten)

So when winter comes
We bemoan the chill
The blessed numbness
The unfeeling
Deadening of all sensation
Cessation of all pain.