Allen Donnelly

Artist, Author, Whimsy Merchant

This is the official website of the artist and science-fiction/fantasy novelist, Allen Donnelly.

This is a slightly maudlin poem I wrote around the time I was, well, let's just say I was in a sad place, both literally and figuratively

Old Winter's Home

Winter comes, stark and icy fingered.
Autumn’s golden hues crumble to dust.
Young, vibrant days of spring a distant memory,
And summer’s halcyon haze has faded away.

Tired sunlight creeps through time-stained windows,
Filtered by the passage of the years,
And falls upon old, grey pictures
Of forgotten friends and lost loves. 

The shadows lengthen as twilight comes,
Chasing the ageing day away,
Leaving dark corners crowded with memories
And the echoes of laughter and tears. 

The grandfather clock in the dusty hallway
Slices away the passing moments.
Its spider crowded workings winding down
To when there’ll be no tock for the tick. 

Ancient ashes fill the cold fireplace,
Stirred only by the chimney’s draught.
No spark remains, nor wood to burn,
The last flame long since flickered and died. 

The sun drifts from the darkening sky 
As dreams of youthful immortality evanesce,
Leaving only ghosts walking in the days
Before the wallpaper peeled and the plaster cracked.

The cold night steals in past doors and windows,
And creeps into the empty, mildewed bed.
In the desolate kitchen, frost strokes the pans and plates,
And makes the house old winter’s home.