Winter crept
through the whispering wood,
hushing fir and oak;
crushed each leaf and froze each web –
but never a word he spoke.

Winter prowled
by the shivering sea,
lifting sand and stone;
nipped each limpet silently –
and then moved on.

Winter raced
down the frozen stream,
catching at his breath;
on his lips were icicles,
at his back was death.

Copyright: from Midnight Forest (Faber and Faber, 1987), copyright © Judith Nicholls 1987, used by permission of the author

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Judith makes use of traditional poetic forms, including ballad and riddle. Some of the poems have a refrain which makes them sound ...

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About Winter

I love to write mysterious poems. Here's a favourite from my second book, Midnight Forest.

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