The sun in morning touch aspires to eclipse the sky,
and all on earth is blessed, clouds remiss
fall from blue to wonder why;
in winter’s clawed hands where darkness streams
embodied bleak and brooding swells of storm, relieve
its bitter chilled plight, day transformed to night.
Yet here the vast blue hues of sky remain,
like some dream in darkness set aflame,
and birds chirp unaccustomed to this rare delight,
their trill songs echo, hardy melodic fellows they;
and I breath the ice laden air, it burns,
yet clean and clear of any disdain, I praise the day, discern.
And so the sun does rise to its zenith unopposed,
its sting far less but well received,
and life relents those nooks so warm,
to revel in this bright cosy moment of relief;
and I thank the sky for its naked sight,
its kindness winter gesture like a dream.
Tony DeLorger © 2016