Evergreen

Snow has covered the flower beds.
Only a few sprigs of green emerge
and even they look battered,
surrendered to the cold of winter, yet
still somehow, irrepressibly green,
even in this season of dead things
shouting life with each bent stalk,
knowing they have lost the season’s battle,
but only for today.

About this poem. 

Right now I have several people in my life that have been beaten down, by life, by people in their lives, by circumstances. And yet each of them, in different ways, seem to emerge with their joy intact. Miracles, each of them.

The picture was taken just outside the Albany Institute of Art and History this weekend.

Tom