Frank Prem

old winter

how old you are
dread Winter

 

in the deep of white
you keep memories
cold and pale
and withered

 

I have touched them
as I must
but every time
there has been a price

 

ever and ever
a price
that claimed from me
something I held
that was
warm

 

there is a chill
in you
old Winter
that comes from ages
long ago

 

that comes
from me
away
away
in Springtime

 

you had knotted your snares
already then

 

before I knew
the traps of seasons
before I understood
to treasure sunshine
or to hold balm dear

 

I am coming
towards you
Winter
I am grown old
now
too

 

though you take
my warm
as though by right
I hold
a kernel
a single memory

 

of the second Springtime
the rejuvenation

 

one memory
not to be ceded
into your keeping

 

it is the one
that will keep me hale

 

warm my heart

 

though your dungeon
lay its ice
in white
upon me

 

~