Winter Solitude
The rope slips through my weathered hands—
Tis here I knot the tether,
Forsaken in these barren lands,
In winter’s weary weather.
The row boat creaks as ripples land,
The wooden runners speaking,
Uneasiness I understand,
A sense of solace seeking.
White reflections glance so deft,
From off the icy river,
Underneath these trees bereft,
Such haunting they deliver.
Leaves surrendered to the wind,
In nakedness they tarry,
Like a cold deliverance,
From all the heft they carry.
Branches reaching to the light,
In hopefulness for life,
Skeletons, a mournful plight,
By winter’s snow and strife.
Not a single fish have I,
For all the day’s endeavour,
Underneath a sullen sky,
A lonely never never.
I must walk three miles from here,
To reach my farmstead home,
With the sunset so austere,
Descending in the gloam.
Still, the birds they comfort me,
With singing forged in cheer,
Such a happy ministry,
To warm this frosty year.
Down along the rocky road,
And thence over the stile,
Onwards to my quaint abode,
Where I can rest awhile.
Fire light in lapping waves,
And broth to warm the heart,
Sustenance my hunger craves,
I’ll see the chill depart.
Then in dreaming softness lost,
My weariness dissolving,
Into nightshade visions tossed,
And soon with God resolving.
ADL
adamdaniel 