Winter

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WINTER


Winter has come, my dear
 A time when promises soon will drive us to tears
The silence clings to the trees
Healing us of our ancient fears
Fears as boundless as the light on the stars
Stars that seem so outlying to human touch
Except the star-shaped immaculate whiteness called snow
Perching on my weak and dying palm.


And when the palm soon with abrupt Faith’s help
Gives up to its life that it loved more than the beyond
Fingers grasping for sweet misty air yet to no avail
Unveil the dark scheming secrets of the chilly winter
That it really is not as unblemished as it appears
For clearly, the star-shaped immaculate beauty
Tinged with the darkness of black dear Death
Has torn this grieving palm apart.

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