I Guess I’ll Have to Wait
Dull this winter lament, this hibernation,
world seen through window panes,
and the chill attests the receding
into warmer states pursued, our gain,
for the weather entices no such will,
as dark clouds linger and consider rain.
Always at the threshold,
those clouds so heavy, so laden,
as bursts drench my hopes of sun,
but thirsty still my garden,
as green thrives in molds and weeds,
seeds in wait for the season.
Snug, this side of the glass,
that blustering wind just a creaking
each wall and window frame,
as bows bend, and cower from the pain
of winters strong arm unleashing,
cold as ice repeating.
Inside the fire’s warm,
that smell of hardwood burning,
gives comfort to a season weary recluse,
a writer of profuse recollections,
seasons passed and nature’s fasting directions
that cleanse the world.
Just a little sun as compromise
would quell my somber inclinations,
the dim days of constancy
the foundation of my sweet-less mood,
as I require soul food to keep my mind attuned,
keep this winter gloom at bay.
But each morning, if sun does bless,
it is temporary, as clouds caress the sky,
and lack-luster they become in darkening
as sun declines and dull resumes,
and my heart sinks, hopes gone,
another day of winter’s growl ensues.
Spring such an afferent time,
I can sense it, but no redolent scent
reminds me yet of its imminence,
but a dream awaits,
warmer thoughts and days to sate,
when finally winter falls.
Still, winter has its ways, its purpose,
a cleansing of the earth before the newness of life,
and perhaps I would not appreciate
the contrast if winter were not in view,
and spring so pursued in plight,
I guess I’ll have to wait and bear the hold.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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