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
~