While The Days Are Short

While the days are short
Like the stump of a tree
Hidden under the snow
That I know of, because
I've been here before
Like winter I've cut dreams short

 

Yes, while the days are short
I will seek,
Through those short blinks
That come between winter nights,
Such answers
Found in stillness
And gowned beauty
Call me into your tundra
Unto the soft spot   
Where thaw will first strike

 

Where a fresh green sprout
Invited too early
Will have a moment to itself
A fleeting moment
Before winter breathes one last breathe
An existence only this man will know of
And we'll share a passing moment,
An understanding
Only those present will remember
A secret will be told

 

As the days grow long
A secret to be recalled
And take into the springtime
To tell those with better timing
But less unique a story
As like-minded desires compete for light

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sweetwater's picture

This is such a lovely poem it

This is such a lovely poem it really drew me in, I wish I could have walked there. sue.

lyrycsyntyme's picture

Thank you, Sue. :)  I'm glad

Thank you, Sue. :)  I'm glad you enjoyed traveling along with these words. It's a beautiful scene, for sure. And that 'soft spot where the thaw will first strike' seems to be thermally fed by a glacier-cut boulder (whose top is almost shaped like a seat, mind you) that emerges from somewhere deep below the soil. It's quite amazing.