From March back through November landscapes draped in black and white <br />As knife-like shadows in the forests pierced the dimming light <br />And even mighty rivers disappeared under the strain <br />Of crushing flows of ice after a night of freezing rain <br /> <br />For now the only sounds that crackle out through winter's hush <br />Are frozen pods of snow which to the ground from treetops rush <br />Exploding on the forest floor as from a fearsome hoard <br />Of Norsemen fighting wildly for their own wintry warlord <br /> <br />And so it is that through the coldest season of the year <br />We sequester deep within the halls that we hold dear <br />Waiting for the sunrise and the promise it will bring <br />That the stranglehold of winter will be broken by the spring <br /> <br />Then finally it happens; ice flows melt and streams cascade <br />Flowers bloom and fruit trees blossom while the pall of winter fades <br />Black and white are all forgotten as a rainbow now appears <br />And the cycle reinvigorates the passing of the years<br /><br />Richard Lackman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-into-spring/
