Winter sun is weak but does not surrender,
Throwing silver swords
Onto the frozen grass
The war goes on.
The summer sun cannot reach into here
Through the growing green.
This place was made to know the sun
Low light through bare trees
Secrets shining in and into the cold
Those bare trees
I have heard their dwellers many times
But here in the barest time of all
I can see them, lovely in their spindly homes.
The sky, when it showed was a shy blue
So assured of who it was
It did not need to look Imperial
To be the conquering canopy of all below
WILF Jan 2017