The Queen of Winter
floats above the quiet of a
thick, new, snow.
Footsteps echo, tree limbs snap
in a hollow breeze,
Points a trembling hand and finger
to pathways
concealed by drifts of
white.
Hair of silver wisps
a halo of icy silk ripples
of mercury.
Woolen gown wound about her lets go yarns,
here and there scattered,
leave a trail of use, and memory.
The end of the year is where she reigns.
Her horses winged and dappled
stamp impatiently to take her
to the castle
on a sleigh
with bells that echo,
gently press eternal melody
into your memory,
And you'll remember the far-off sound of
a men's choir singing
a sound you've never heard
and will forget
until you hear
Again,
once again,
Listen.
2 comments:
I think you're the genius. I need more Hannah time. You should visit more often.
Listen more intently...is that the voice of her Prince calling to her from the castle. Be still, you restless steeds! Let this be a gentle ride across the newly fallen snow-fields. Give friends time to come with their silken scarves, their lace-edged handkerchiefs to wave and bid farewell to their Queen as she prepares for the gliding journey.
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