Congratulations to Boston, New York City, and the rest of New England!
You survived, though not without difficulties in many places, and the clean up goes on. And hurricane Sandy sufferers have endured more hardship, sadly. Let’s hope they get the help they need soon.
Safety first.
And be grateful to all your snowplowers, police officers, firefighters, paramedics, shelter providers, healthcare workers and countless others who were out in the blizzard trying to make life safe and better for everyone. They are all heroes, and they work hard while most people are hunkered down.
Please Note: The version shown above contains all stanzas of this poem, shown below. Presently, the one above is not for sale, but I have shorter versions of the poem on different photographic backgrounds. If there is interest in the one shown above, let me know, and I can be persuaded to reprint the above piece.
Winter Deep at White White Dawn
Savor now the subtle scent
that nestles to the earth,
sending its surrounding spell,
shushing all it blankets now
to somber slumber, thence to dream,
and to sleep the deepest sleep
that winter sends its way.
Gather now reflected light
and send it to the sun.
The whiteness of assertive earth
reclaims its right to warm itself
in gentle mound and cragged shelf,
speaking now to all within,
“It’s time to rest; it’s time to sleep,
until the snows succumb to spring,”
with fainting voice then whispering:
“I leave you now to your rest,
but you shall rise again in spring
to answer anthems of the sun,
and then begin your work again.”
But now it’s time for restful peace:
strength re-gathered, strength renewed;
nature sowing its own food,
until the sun again inspires
lush green growth
from hot orange fires.
Death comes not to those who sleep
but to those who never cease
to stand before the burning sun–
who take no rest in winter deep,
who sleep not at white white dawn.
Life returns to those who rest
in shadowed shelters sown by sleep,
for sleep allows a life to dream
and from those dreams
again will come
the strength, the will, and life’s desire
to rise again and face the fire
that tempers steel
and hones the life
that rests there now beneath the snow–
winter deep at white white dawn–
and feeds those dreams that burn within.
So sleep and dream and live again.
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©Daniel Mark Extrom. 2008-2014. All rights reserved.
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