The Sadness of Winter
Snow piles in the garden,
ghostly lumps of white,
vague, faceless, colorless,
robbed of life
by a winter season
that has stretched for decades,
help close by a belief
that summer is for someone else,
not for this place of deep north
that you have chose,
a place of winter,
unending, even
when color surrounds you.
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A sad poem, but I am not sad. I am merely remembering sadness and how it can cripple.
Winter is hitting Vermont with a vengeance and my flower beds lie under feet of snow. But I know there are flowers underneath, like these, taken last spring. You can click on the image for a larger version.
Tom
3 comments:
I have a teeny melancholy streak. Maybe that's why I love winter so much.
I think peonies just might be my favorite flower.
Beautiful picture of your flowers from last spring.
I could feel the sadness from your poem but I do love winter even though it can be quite dreary.
I enjoyed your poem!
Turns out the deep north has come to Virginia this year and the months do feel like decades. I like your header photo with its brilliant green. It's hard to believe the land will ever look green like that again.
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