TITLE: Winter Wood
By Yvonne Osborne
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Frozen in timely season, linked overhead
That once were dark and naked,
The fire of Autumn gone
And summerís laughter dead.
In snow twisted spirals, macabre dances
Under a silver moon,
Brittle fortress, bowed boughs,
And bright the icy branches.
Silence, sighing, receives a curling breath,
And throws her white mantle
Upon the forest floor,
The shroud of summers death.
And yet the moon for all her softer way
Touches the pallid virgin paths
And with a soft caress
Tints from jet in blue and grey.
Nothing mortal here nor left to chance,
Heavenís darling buds new birth
Hides in an earthly womb,
And sleeps through winterís dance.
Until the sun returns to suckle at her breast
Natures naked children
In joyful innocence,
Then clothes them all in perfect happiness.
Thus it is that beneath the Creators hand
Mortal man may live anew,
To die and live again
Was as the Master planned.
As in timely season the earth perfects
Her children of the glades,
So Love rebirths His own
To bring them home in winterís arabesque.
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