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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
Nice Image
"...where thaw will first strike"
Ready for the transition, positioned for the lightening bilt of the unknown.
~S~
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.
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.