I know I’m not alone in finding winter a difficult time of year. But when I look closely at what’s around us, I feel hope for what’s to come.
No Death in Winter
Whoever says these trees are dead
Come here, and see upon the brown
The small bud swelling.
And you, who say the birds have gone,
Stand still, and hear the thrushes’ song,
The wild birds’ calling.
Who says the frost will kill and chill?
Who says the ice has drawn its dagger?
Who says the wind will pierce the seed?
I say that sun will come again,
That melted ice will feed the seed,
That warming winds will draw the shoot,
That bud will break; that green will grow,
That flower unfurl—for winter shall conceive the spring.
© Lizzie Ballagher