Friday, February 7, 2014



It is not a howling
Just a gentle, soft, blowing, drifting
trilling in a whisper:
Do not dread the cold, the dark,
the dead and barren ground-
it but sleeps, fire
growing in its belly
soon to birth through the silence
of sorrow’s heavy snow
a tiny, strong-willed flower
the voice in winter’s wilderness
to prepare the way
of beginnings.
Announcing the coming of spring.

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