The Fall of Winter and Our Eternal Remembrance

A poem about winter retreating and summer rising triumphant.

Shrouded in snow the earth lies in waiting, plotting her return, armed with blades of grass sharpened through winter’s waning poised to rise triumphant from the thaw and reclaim her rightful throne that gleams ‘neath the sheen of the summer sun.

The winds of winter are called back to the poles while leaves return to the trees to hide their naked shame. The earth blushes through bright blooms of pinkish hue.

For months the trees had whispered warnings of winter. They shed their leaves to save themselves, now laid bare by December’s relentless retreat. A new year approaches as the world molts and sheds last year’s skin. Born anew under a blanket of snow. January peels back the layers and our mother is splayed naked beneath a new year’s sun.

Do you not hear the sweet succor of the siren song of summer, blowing through the barren branches of the earth? Do you not hear blades of grass sharpening themselves as they ready for their triumphant return from the snow?

Into the fresh thaw we hide our sins in splintered coffins and bury them in the backyard, marked with shame and regret. Keep them close my children, for they are our foundation, the solid cement on which our house, lamenting, stands. Without them we are weak, feeble, and always forgetting the past. We must never forget.

Our breath becomes crystals in the weightless cold as we lift our voices to the sky. We sing the stars that seam the sheets of eternity with threads of solar silk sewn without care into endless void. Infinitesimal we stand on this orb, a minute speck in the celestial sea. But we are not lost.

With words and songs we are immortal. We spin our tales on the loom of forever, unknowingly.

Bound in books or laced on the lips of lore we exist eternally. Never forget me.