Thursday, November 22, 2012

The Last Winter Solstice

There are poems to write;
there are wrongs to right;
there are battles to fight,
brutally, whilst duty is done,
and a dragon's curse undone,
and a lady’s hand finally won.

The summer sun shyly slinks;
the harvest moon wrily winks,
and hence winter, winter at last --
and not a moment too late!
Now I raise my cup and wait
with a broken, empty glass.

This is winter, unhindered
the coldest day of the year;
but, Ah! summer so near –
for the Spring is growing wings
and the cold is growing old,
in the last winter solstice.

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