IT IS THAT TIME OF THE YEAR

        It is that time of the year, 
      When the Sun comes rather late, 
       But, seems in a hurry to depart,
       Cutting short the warm daylight.

        It is that time of the year,
        When the hills wrap themselves,
         In clean, white robes and stand, 
         Waiting for the winter to pass.

          It is that time of the year, 
           When cold-blooded animals,
            Go into deep hibernation, 
            Lest they are frozen to death. 

          It is that time of the year,
         When birds from snowy climes,
        Come flying thousands of miles,
        To survive in sunny regions.

           It is that time of the year,
             Which the rich find most enjoyable,
             With all the weapons in their hands,
             To fight the cruel weather.

          But  for the poor and homeless,
          It's nothing short of a marauder,
          Which comes  just to torture them, 
            And make life even harder.