The obstreperous white of
Cranes' wings in flight
Strike the battleship-steel-grey sky, and
Slash the seamless, fog-drawn dawn;
A brilliance, bright as
Summer's Sun
All calls to mind, how even now,
In dark'st November,
When torpor pulls
Me back to slumber—
The refuge of dreams,
(When all of mine have
Come undone,)
It's neither time to
Give in, nor give up,
With promises waiting, like
Bulbs 'neath the frost
If only I can just hold on
Through interminable Winter's stark,
As day succeeds night, the Spring will dawn
Only new light can vanquish old dark.
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