Winter

Winter Clutch your cloak and pull it tight, A winter storm will hit tonight. The woods are full of leaves, Waiting for the blankness of the snow. The Pagans knew it well This bottom out and finish of the year And marked it with their monuments. The stones still stand in reverence And observation of the ancestors, Of the power and the coming of the Sun, Of transmigration and rebirth, Of prayers to Mother Earth, held in your hands, That She may see again the great, life giving light And hush her helpless babes, As surely, they stand in need Of succor and of sustenance. In this time of ice and eerie, frozen towers Which intertwine the trees with buried flowers, You can see, in me, my soul in clearest lines, Reflected in the mirrored travertine Of latticed lakes caught up in cold. I am so very much alone and yet alive In this cast out space and nadir of the seasons. I cannot know the reasons why I then rejoice, But the falling of degrees remake my song And I have little choice but then to sing. Carl Estrin