TASTE OF WINTER
On the wind today
comes the austere
taste of winter.
That arctic blue steel
vindictive tang.
My soul dreads
the somber breath
of
Gethsemanel darkness.
The same stern,
icy
anthracite discipline,
that coerced
blithe spring and summer
into stasis.
Adagio,
the creeping chill
frigidly entombs the flowers.
My moody heart,
heliotropic
strains
to follow
the
waning sun.
Occurrence occult,
this yearly trance
mesmerizing the world
to sepulcher sleep.
Interred behind
frost kissed opaque windows.
Knitting the pale bald moon a cap
I dream of lilacs and my absent love.
By Sharon Lea (deceased)
Sharon submitted her poems to the Den for many years and although I have published them before, I like to bring them out again.
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