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


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


that comes
from me
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
I am grown old


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