enchanted to a stone

outside in the dark we know it's getting cold
the night will end with frost on every leaf
it's spring but we still face some wintry grief
the world reminds us we are growing old
no longer can we dare be straight or bold
time creeps upon us like a black-clad thief
there's no reward for being boss or chief
life's measured in a different kind of gold
grey in my beard thinning hair on my head
the beasts that whimper in the deepest night
have messages that i don't want to hear
each day i wonder why i get out of bed
what's there to see that does not hurt my sight
or sound outside that does not stun the ear