To Days of Winter

Not enough has been said

ever in your praise

hushed mornings

before the year turns new

and for a while afterward

passing behind the sounds

oh light worn thin

until the eye can

almost see through you

still words continuing

to bloom out of yourselves

in the way of the older stars

your ancestors

season from before knowledge

reappearing

days when the sun is loved most

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated May/Jun 2004
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