Wintersong

Recall a song of winter.

See it silent, beneath
these frozen river waters
that no hand can break,
now known untouchable.

Whistle then its
remembered tune

of a winter branching out,
and set it atop the trees
into charcoal smudge silhouettes,
that later the spring buds
will draw out in colour.

And if those blossoms
you know will never come,
melt a song of winter,
and let memory decide
where the flowers are,

where they can rest.

For James C. Hartsell, ‘Wintersong’ who died recently.

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One thought on “Wintersong

  1. Bekki says:

    This poem still entrances me. I can see your painter side in this.

    that no hand can break;
    now known untouchable.

    Whistle then its
    remembered tune

    These lines bowl me over Matt. This is one of your best uses of imagery to envoke emotion.

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