Sunday, December 19, 2021
A Midwinter Night's Eve / George J. Dance
A Midwinter Night's Eve
No trace of summer yet; the earth was dead.
The sun was slowly dying, too, and like
Some ancient monarch lay, a rotting hulk
Now wrapped in robes of pure magnificence –
Of purple, liquid gold, and bleeding red,
Reflecting off the scattered clouds above
Like flowers thrown upon a frozen grave.
A minute's silence for a fallen king.
The service over and the body lowered,
The very day now buried in the past,
With halting steps the widow turned away,
So painfully pulled on a cloak of black,
And hobbled off to seek oblivion
In dreams of reuniting with the sun.
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