There is no magical death that ends the winter.
Flowers bloom, buds emerge
Only to be slain by sudden snow, persistent frost.
Winds that reach down and strangle the green
(Shake loose the darling buds)
Are as common as the uneasy calm of rain.
It takes no special genius, no seer
To unfurl that first green flag.
In the end, it is the queer courage
Of things that persist and persist
That rises, defiant, above the dead leaves of the year before.
Whether it is truly spring or only winter’s pause, courage rises
In spring, I am always reminded that strength is not always obvious, that the sprouting of dandelions can break cement.
For more feats of strength, obvious and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.