Winters here.

Harsh winds chop through.
Skinning branches of their tie-dyed leaves.
Winter warmers pull through.
Protecting arthritic arms within  woolly sleeves.

Glowing gleams pervade through.
A hum of activity is marked by the town lights.
Fireworks and sparks shoot through.
Evoking 'oo's and 'aah's on frost-filled chilly nights.

Broths, stews and soups seep through.
Causing countless cup-a-soups to be consumed.
Shop decorations creep through.
Reminding us that our bank balances are doomed.

the chase.

You were a conker I didn't have to climb for,
one that I stomped on prematurely,
shattering your spikey and strong exterior,
one I regret taking and wish I had left.

You were a  book I purchased from a charity shop,
one that I didn't pay much attention,
a first edition I didn't really appreciate,
one I regret refunding and would like to re-read.

You were an injured hermit crab whose shell I stole,
one that I disregarded and further damaged,
taking the only thing you ever owned,
one I regret stealing and wish to return.

result ; regret.