Not Ready For Winter
I am not ready for winter.
The cold of winters past still lingers in my bones
and there are parts of me that have died in the frost
that will never bloom completely again.
I have changed, not so much a victim of the cold,
as a creature of evolution, strangely resilient,
not content to survive, I find the sun
from within.
About this poem
I worry less than I once did. Surviving dark times, again and again does that to a man. Strange how pain can bring peace, how wounds can bring strength.
And for the record, despite the poem’s title, I actually like winter. I haven’t met a season I don’t like.
Tom
