One of my favorite poems by J.R.R. Tolkien is “Winter Comes to Nargothrond”, a piece of verse that was spun off from a part of his “Lay of the Children of Hurin” into a short standalone poem. It’s in alliterative verse, a form used in Old English and other Germanic languages and revived for modern English by Tolkien and W.H. Auden, among others. Instead of rhyme, this form of poetry relies on alliteration within each line to create cohesion and provide structure.

Your mileage may vary, but I find this a rather effective evocation of the changing seasons, and appropriate for the solstice.

The summer slowly   in the sad forest
waned and faded.   In the west arose
winds that wandered   over warring seas.
Leaves were loosened   from labouring boughs:
fallow-gold they fell,   and the feet buried
of trees standing   tall and naked,
rustling restlessly   down roofless aisles,
shifting and drifting.
                The shining vessel
of the sailing moon   with slender mast,
with shrouds shapen   of shimmering flame,
uprose ruddy   on the rim of Evening
by the misty wharves   on the margin of the world.
With winding horns   winter hunted
in the weeping woods,   wild and ruthless;
sleet came slashing,   and slanting hail
from glowering heaven   grey and sunless,
whistling whiplash   whirled by tempest.
The floods were freed   and fallow waters
sweeping seaward,   swollen, angry,
filled with flotsam,   foaming, turbid,
passed in tumult.   The tempest died.
Frost descended   from far mountains
steel-cold and still.   Stony-glinting
icehung evening   was opened wide,
a dome of crystal   over deep silence,
over windless wastes   and woods standing
as frozen phantoms   under flickering stars.