Winter Lament

Dark trees lined white as snow falls fast

The late, wet kind, it doesn’t last

Heavy blanket like on my soul

February’s grey its darkness cast

Deja vu, reflections past

My will stands strong, experienced lament down the mired path

Seasons move a rhythmic dance, and old friend passes a longing glance

Winter howls, right smart of wind, snarling teeth we must advance

Iron stove embers glow, wood fire penetrates bone

Life’s a forge. It cooks off dross, tempering the spirit we won’t get lost

Soon the sun will cast its gaze, defrost the chatter, its will be done

Crocus’ purple sail unfurled beneath the blanket leaves are curled

Prophetic purple of things to come, the Rose of Sharon, the Summer Sun!

My soul’s salvation, it is done!

~Paul Biester